


Guardians of the Planes - Phoenixfire

by appending_fic



Series: Guardians of the Planes [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Planescape (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Arguing, Banter, Betrayal, Building A Team, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, D&D Universe, Divergent Timelines, Enemies to Friends, First Meetings, Gen, Magic, Prison, The Planes, jailbreak, planescape - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-02 09:31:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14541771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appending_fic/pseuds/appending_fic
Summary: A thief looking for the next payout, a monk escaping her grim master, a berserker seeking revenge, an artificer just trying to make it, and a tree who no one can understand all meet in prison.If it seems familiar, it's because in the infinity of the Planes, the Great Wheel intersecting with countless Prime Material Planes, stories like to repeat themselves.DND/Planescape AU





	1. Jailbreak

Peter woke to a firm slap across his face; probably not intended to hurt, save for the unexpected presence of claws on the hand. "Ow! What the flark are you-"

"Stop rattling your bone-box," someone hissed next to Peter's ear. It was possibly whoever had slapped him, though there was a looming presence that might be them, as well. He opened his eyes cautiously, because his assailant didn't sound friendly, and that put his chances of being in a bad place pretty high.

He was propped up against a wall, rough and cold, in a cell open to narrow corridors outside. A figure loomed over him in the darkness, long-limbed, and a body closer to the ground was hunched over Peter's face. The shorter one wouldn't pass Peter's waist, if they reached it, and seemed the likely culprit for the slap, with the anxious twitching of their hands. Furry, with a pale, pointed muzzle and pale fur outlining a dark mask on their face, they were of a race Peter couldn't immediately place, though there was something familiar about their shape.

Memories surfaced from the fog of the recent past, and Peter knocked the furry one aside as he scrambled to his feet.

"You!" he snapped. "You're the one who attacked me!"

The furry one, nimbly dodging Peter's awkward sweep, clambered on top of a bunk or something, teeth bared. "We're not the only ones, berk; I don't know who you pissed off, but with the bounty on your head, you're lucky the crow-feeders didn't get you first."

It was a sobering statement; Peter had known making off with the Orb would piss off Yondu, but he'd presumed the Ravagers would track him down themselves, to save on the cost, at least.

"Where are we, anyway?"

The furry one snorted. "Never been in the Kyln before? It's where the Hardheads stick people they don't want to stick on the leafless tree or wait for the Lady to notice."

The furry one's mention of the Hardheads made everything a little clearer. The Harmonium kept the peace in Sigil, and had as little patience for people who couldn't stop fights before they began, as those who started them. And while the prisons - manned by Mercykillers who wouldn't hesitate to put down any troublemaker - was preferable to a maze or the gallows, it put a damper on a lot of Peter's immediate plans.

"Well, what do you want?"

"Besides putting the sod who sold me on this job in the dead book? My pay. The chant's that the Hardheads called the bodies who put the price on your head, which means _they'll_ get the jink for handing you over."

"I am Groot," their companion said.

"Yeah, _and_ I need to find a way out of here."

Peter glanced up at the other creature; the furry one's minder, he supposed, something like a humanoid treant, eight feet tall with moss breaking up the uniformity of their bark.

The furry one was suddenly in Peter's face again. "What? You never seen a Groot before?"

"Never seen one of you before, either."

"Ha! That's because there isn't anything like me but me, berk. You can call me Rocket."

"I am Groot."

"Yeah, yeah. And that's Groot."

It seemed like they wouldn't be leaving Peter alone for a while, so he sighed. "You can call me Starlord."

The furry one - Rocket - snorted. "Starlord? What kind of a name is that?"

"Do you give your real name to anyone who asks?" Peter retorted. "If you do, you're clueless, a prime, or yarking about how tough you are."

Rocket scowled, their nose twitching as they leaned back against one of the walls. "I don't know, I'm not the one who got himself jumped by two jinkbashers in the span of a minute."

"Groot?"

"Sorry, two _teams_ of jinkbashers."

Peter decided to walk away from this conversation before he drop-kicked Rocket off the Spire, but Rocket scrambled after him as he left the cell, at least until Groot passed and Rocket clambered up to their shoulder. Less a minder and more a mobile weapons platform, apparently.

Groot then drew even with him, and Rocket gave Peter a wide leer. "I wouldn't go out there if I were you. Whole cage is full bashers and crowfeeders, and I can _promise_ a pretty face like yours won't last long in there."

Setting aside the question of whether Rocket thought he was actually pretty or just trying to rile him up, Peter pushed around Groot. "I can take care of myself."

Rocket gave a snarl and Groot grabbed Peter's arm, pulling him up short because he was not stronger than a treant over a foot taller than him. "Okay, I was trying to be polite, here, but you're _mine_ 'til I get what I'm owed. So you're gonna stick with me, rather than walk in the Lady's shadow, like you clearly want to."

"When you say 'yours'..."

Rocket paused, before throwing their head back and laughing. "Ha! You're cute, 'Starlord', but I don't get friendly with marks."

"I am Groot."

" _Anymore_ ," Rocket growled.

"Alright, if you want to scare up guys who want to, whatever, fuck me up-"

"That was not even remotely what I was saying, Starlord. Look, can I get a different name, here? I sound like a puppet, using some Power's dumb-ass name."

"What kind of a name's Rocket?"

" _Mine_ ," Rocket snarled, fur bristling, making them look about half again as large as Peter got a good look at those sharp teeth. "So you can zip it before I stitch it for you, okay?"

"Groot."

Rocket smoothed down their fur, straightening to a less feral stance. "Yeah, you're right there. Come on, Baby Boo, let's take a walk."

"Baby Boo?"

"Yeah, doesn't matter what I call you, so long as you know it's you I'm talking to, right? Anyway, been trying to find who makes bub in here, because if there's ever a time for a drink, it's being dropped in a cage by the Hardheads."

The Kyln wasn't actually that large; a set of wide hallways converging on a huge common area. And even then, the place wasn't crowded; Peter suspected a lot of the potential inmates got themselves killed before the Harmonium caught up with them.

The population was as diverse as any market in Sigil, with the notable absence of any fiend or celestial, who presumably had their own methods of dispensing justice. The noises of chatter, fights, and trysts melded into a background clamor not unlike that of the Hive. Peter was on the wrong end of more than a few leers, although the treant and furry passenger trailing after him left them at that. If Rocket weren't insistent on turning Peter over to Yondu, Peter might have been happier with them acting as a deterrent to any more persistent interest. 

Peter was distracted enough, though, that when he ran into a familiar face, it was by accident, only the other body's quick step back keeping him from running into them, a lithe, elven form, a green-skinned creature dressed in tight leather armor. He recognized the face _and_ tight-fitting leathers from when they'd grabbed the orb off him. They stared at each other for a long moment before Rocket caught up with them, and they snarled.

"You! You sodding prod, you lost me a mark!" Rocket darted down onto the ground, and stalked toward the thief, pointing angrily at them. "I should styx you on principle!"

"Hey, wait, how about we not do that." Peter made a grab for Rocket, got a bite for his troubles, but at least Rocket's ire was directed at him, rather than on murdering the thief. An idea was starting to form in his head, but it was going to require a lot less squabbling about who was going to murder whom.

"You know who she is?" Rocket snapped. "Gamora, Ronan's dog. A nasty piece of work, bloodthirsty as a githyanki." They gave the green figure, Gamora, a wide smirk, and Peter realized too late Rocket was trying to pick a fight. Could he recognize a githzerai on sight? No, but the tone in Rocket's voice made it clear they meant offense, and that meant this was no githyanki.

Gamora sniffed. "Not nearly as bloodthirsty as my sister, no," she said. "But if you persist, I _might_ need to put you in the dead book."

"I'd like to see you try-"

"Okay, can everyone just stop fighting for like five seconds?"

"Well, well, well, look who it is." A trio of nasty-looking people, one with fangs much less cared for than Rocket's, yellowed and possibly diseased, stepped up to their little argument, all leering nastily. "When I heard Ronan's crow-feeder was in the Kyln, thought it was a piece of cake. But here she is, Gamora the Gith, in the flesh."

Gamora sneered at them. "And if you keep nosing around, you're going to get bitten."

"Yeah?" One lunged at Gamora, grabbing an arm and pinning it behind her back. "Gonna be hard to bite anyone when you're in boxes and pieces."

"How about you leave her alone?"

Gamora's assailants looked up, twisted expressions of disdain uniform on their faces; Gamora just 'tsked' dismissively. "I don't need _help_." And with that, she twisted in the grip of the person holding her, and fell _up_. The shift in momentum made them shout, grip loosening but not breaking as Gamora dragged them upward. Twenty feet up as she landed on the ceiling, she turned, slamming her attacker down with a crunch. She fell back down toward the ground, then, similarly taking out the second attacker with a diving pounce, and swept the third's legs, dropping them, at which point she punched them in the throat, silencing their shouts.

She looked up, gaze sliding across Peter to Rocket, who was back to looking belligerent, although there was something in their gaze...assessing, Peter guessed.

"So how about you back off?" she asked, before pushing back them, toward the corridors. Peter ran to catch up, only to be brought up short by Groot.

"Oh come, on!" He tugged at his wrist, giving the treant a pleading look. It worked, sometimes, but Groot was apparently better trained than that.

"You think I'm gonna let you run off after some soup-swimmer? You're my _meal ticket_ , Baby Boo, so I'm not going to let you get yourself killed by Ronan's dog for, what, do you get off on being beaten to death by chicks with no sense of humor?"

"Look, how much am I worth to you?"

"50,000 jinx."

" _Gold_?"

"Yeah, so I'll be on you like a knifespider 'til I get paid."

Peter couldn't hold back the snicker, at which point Rocket, moving faster than Peter could follow, clambered up until they were eye-to-eye with Peter, fangs bared.

"Laugh again, and I'll take off your brain-box," Rocket growled.

"Sorry! It's just you're, like three feet tall, and retrievers are…" Peter waved vaguely to express the idea of a fifteen-foot-tall construct built like a spider with scythes for feet.

"Found you, though," Rocket replied, leaning back, still braced against Peter's stomach. "And if you run, I promise I will again."

Peter pushed Rocket aside, who leapt sideways onto Groot's shoulder, who trailed after Peter as he followed the thief.

"I'm trying to say the far end of the Planes isn't far enough, Baby Boo, so the next room isn't going to do it!"

"I am trying to catch up to the person who attacked me _first_ because they took something from me, and if we can get out of here with it," Peter lowered his voice, "the 50,000 Yondu's willing to pay will look like gelt."

"You say that," Rocket drawled, "but we're talking 50,000 _gold_ , here. I'm not letting you slip out of my hands for, what, 75?"

Peter, who was doing some quick calculations in his head, blurted out, "Probably more like 2 million," and was abruptly jerked backward by a rough, bark-covered hand. Rocket bounded across the bridge Groot's arm made and leaned in close, squinting at Peter's expression. They did so for what felt like a few minutes, at which point Rocket backed away and back onto Groot.

"2 million, split three ways?" Rocket asked, casually, but there was an edge, there. Something about the offer that made Peter wary, something it took a moment to figure out. You didn't start the bargaining with an even split; you tried to fight for any advantage you could get. Rocket should have started asking, at least, for 50 thousand more than Peter, just to compensate him for the lost bounty.

And then he saw it, the bristling of Rocket's fur, the tension in their stance. Peter was being tested. He wasn't certain if it was whether he was a gullible mark, or could be trusted to treat Rocket fairly. But it was clear there was an answer Rocket was expecting.

"With you two as the muscle, I'll take half a million and you can split the rest." He caught sight of green skin about halfway across the commons, and turned to head that way. It took a moment for Groot to catch up to him, Rocket's tail lashing behind them like a cape.

"I'm not some gully prime, Baby Boo," Rocket snarled. "That good a deal usually turns out to be a cakewalk, so if you think you can-"

"I'm not trying anything, okay? I wanna get out of here, I'd _like_ to make some jink along the way, and that's worth a hundred fifty thousand extra."

Negotiating was probably Peter's speciality (after his kick-ass dancing), but it was still a tense moment, watching Rocket consider, still glaring, evaluating Peter. And then their posture eased, expression losing some of the edge they'd had even when not actively threatening Peter. "Well, you wanna pay us a hundred fifty to get you out of here, I'm down."

"There's just one problem. I'm sort of on the outs with my fence. Our thief, though, obviously had some idea what to do with it."

Rocket's scowl returned. "I told you, she's Ronan's Dog. She was gonna bring it straight to him and use it to, I don't know, murder unicorns."

A little distracted arguing with Rocket, Peter ran into someone. He pulled back, or tried to; the stranged had a hand clasped on his shoulder. 

A mass of tattooed flesh stood in front of them; Peter looked up, past a wide, grey chest, hairless, covered with raised red tattoos, to a face, clean-shaven, head bald, twisted in fury. "What did you say about Ronan?"

"Nothing you need to worry about, berk," Rocket snapped back. "Come on, Starlord, let's get her."

"No." The newcomer's hand tightened, and Peter was certain it would be a bad idea to try and break free. "You know of Ronan the Accuser, and I would know what."

"Look, I've never heard of the dude, but Rocket over here seems to know a little more about it-" 

The hefty person grabbed Peter's throat and tightened, presumably just enough to make clear they could snap Peter's neck if they wanted. "You, vermin, you will tell me what you know of Ronan or I will break your associate."

Rocket bared their mouthful of sharp teeth, one hand braced against Groot. "Call me vermin again, and I'll remove whatever your kind uses for genitalia. As for Starlord, here, do what you want."

"Hey!" Peter pushed down the spark of hurt in his chest; he'd thought he'd made an impression on Rocket, something he could leverage into a partnership or whatever. But however the quick betrayal made him feel, he needed to deal with the immediate problem of the person trying to break his neck. He wished, briefly, that he'd picked up some magical means of persuasion, though it was likely the Kyln was locked down against anyone trying to charm the guards. "Look, he's right; we barely know each other. But we _are_ going to talk to someone who pals around with Ronan. So if you promise not to murder her straight off, you could come along."

"The flark, Starlord? I'm not running a dungeon crawl, here."

" _You_? This is my score, Rocket."

"Groot!" 

Rocket, back arched, teeth bared, relaxed, their fur settling as they sprawled across Groot's shoulders. "I suppose, yeah. Long as you keep your nose out of our business, you can ask Gamora for the dark about Ronan."

Peter's assailant wrinkled their nose. "I have no desire to stick my nose in you. But if this Gamora knows Ronan, I will demand she tell me all his secrets. Ronan the Accuser killed my wife and daughter, and I will see him dead."

"Yeah, we have literally no time for your tragic backstory. Come on, Baby Boo." Rocket bounded down onto Peter's shoulder, tugging at his ear.

"Ow! What are you-"

"I apparently cannot leave you alone for more than a tick before you get lost or pick up new rider for this stupid little Planeswalk, so you're my new mount."

"I am Groot."

"I _meant_ until we get our asses back to the Cage, or, really, _anywhere_ but here and my fortune isn't tied to some clueless berk who won't shut his bone-box! At least you know _how_ to shut up."

"Why are we standing here? Gamora is not here."

Rocket sighed and shoved at the back of Peter's head. "Come on. And if you keep your mouth shut, maybe I _will_ switch Groot out for you."

"Yeah, I don't need a furry sidekick." Rocket slapped the side of Peter's head. "Ow!"

"I'm nobody's _sidekick_!"

"I am Groot," Groot said, slowly.

Rocket shifted; Peter glanced back to see them hunched in place, ears flat against their head. "Okay, _no_ ," they ground out. "I'm just messing with them. Probably can't even hit the Cage from the Hive with a city-seeking bolt."

"Look, I know we're not, like, friends, but can you stop being such an ass?" Peter grabbed at Rocket's tail, an endeavor that left his forearm covered in scratches, but at least Rocket wasn't mocking him anymore.

"Look, your little plan is cute and all, but trying to get out of the Kyln's spire-climbing."

"Then what's with your whole 'pound of flesh' deal? You're not going to convince the Ravagers to let you out of here _and_ pay you when the Mercykillers hand me over."

"Yeah, so I'm gonna get 50,000 gold pieces worth of entertainment out of your ass before your buddies throw you into the Great Void."

Peter let that hang in the air for a moment, trying to work out a response to that.

"Even if your friend is an extraordinarily expensive prostitute, it would take days of sexual intercourse to spend that much."

Peter stopped walking, and he felt a sort of stillness in Rocket, still perched on his shoulder. They both looked back, at the hulking person who'd joined their quest to, apparently, dick around until the entropic end of the planes. They didn't _look_ like they were joking.

"I'm not a prostitute."

"He would have to be trained as some sort of whore cat burglar." Gamora stepped out of what had appeared to be an empty cell. "Given that he retrieved an item a dozen of the greatest thieves in the planes failed to secure. Unless.you have a companion whom you seduced into retrieving the orb _for_ you?"

The anger Peter had been trying to hold onto since he'd been assaulted in the Clerk's Ward, relieved of the treasure he'd pissed off the Ravagers to escape with, and thrown in a pit by the Harmonium, evaporated in the incredulity that these assassins, bounty hunters, and whatever the big one was, seriously debating if he was a prostitute.

"Look, he's - _he_?" Rocket glanced at Peter for clarification; he nodded, because they apparently were going to be hanging around each other long enough that disclosing their genders could be considered polite. "Anyway, _if_ he's a prostitute, you can all keep your hands off him!"

"I am Groot."

"First, this is _not_ the time, and second, no, because I don't _share_!"

"Look, can we have this discussion later? I would really like to get out of this place before I go grey-"

"You don't need to worry about that," Gamora interjected. "They don't have any food here."

It seemed unlike the Harmonium to drop people in a pit to starve to death, but if they weren't planning on starving the prisoners-

"We're in the Astral Plane."

"We're in the Astral Plane," Rocket said, at the same moment, before shooting Peter a narrow-eyed look. He shrugged, not certain if the bounty hunter was mad at him for stealing their moment or what. Peter wasn't certain if he should feel offended. Putting together Gamora's inconsistent relationship with gravity and her assertion the passage of time wasn't going to be a problem and getting the timeless, weightless Astral Plane as an answer didn't take a sage.

"I was really hoping that trick meant you had a way around the cloak they dropped around this place," Rocket continued, grumbling.

"What are you talking about, a cloak?"

Rocket shot the big one a glare. "Do you have a name?"

"Yes."

Rocket sighed. "Will you _tell_ us? Thinking of you as the big yelly one is getting old."

"I am Drax, Berserker of the 10th Order."

"Yeah, cool. I'm Rocket, this rube goes by Starlord, Groot over here's with me, and you know Gamora."

"Why are all of you even here?"

"I need to know where you stashed the orb you took off me-"

"And I want you to lead me to Ronan the Accuser," Drax rumbled.

Gamora snorted and leaned back (down? Peter hated trying to think about direction here) against the wall. "Unless the Harmonium knew what they had when they went through my things, it'll still be in my personal effects outside. But I really wouldn't be worrying about getting that thing anymore. In about two days it's going to be with Ronan."

Rocket punched the side of Peter's head. "Ow!"

"I _told_ you!" Rocket crowed. "Didn't I tell him?" they shouted at Groot.

"I am Groot."

"Can you hold on a second? What's that about Ronan?"

Gamora gave Peter a long, even stare. "I presume it will take a day for him to realize I am unreachable, and a day to prepare for an assault upon this fortress. Then we will be dead and he will have the orb. It will then cease to be our problem."

"Ronan is coming here?"

Gamora barely spared Drax a glance. "I would not be so pleased with that. Ronan was a Mercykiller before they expelled him for his extreme views. He wields a weapon forged to kill gods. When he arrives, he will destroy every living thing in this place."

"Wait. Back up a minute. A regular Mercykiller'll track a dude to the end of the planes for littering. What, exactly, do they consider 'extreme' views?" Drax took a step back, but Gamora gave Peter a tired look as she slumped further against the wall.

"That guilt is contagious. That to associate with one who has fallen is to be tainted by the same transgression. He would slaughter whole settlements for the crime of one, and finding a prison full of thieves and bounty hunters, well."

"Okay, then getting out of here is officially number one on our to-do list. Ideas?"

"Ideas?" Rocket bounded back onto Groot's shoulder. "Trying to break out's gonna get us sent to the Dark Planes for hard labor, or killed and end up there anyway-"

"I am Groot?"

Rocket barked out a laugh. "Not going to the Beastlands when _I_ die, buddy. Doubt any of these cutters'd fare much better."

"Then you wanna sit here and let Ronan kill us?"

"It's gonna take more than some sodding Greaser to kill me!" Rocket jumped down to ground level and began pacing. "I got some ideas - wish you had a way to shut off the cloak around here; if I had five minutes and something even remotely sparkly, I could blast this place a new one." They glared at Peter. "You got anything that might help?"

"Not in an anti-magic field."

"So you're like what, a whore-cerer?"

"Are we still on this?"

"I am Groot."

Rocket snorted. "Yeah. Groot says if we're gonna die anyway, we might as well get some laughs out of it. And I will stop finding Starlord the whore-cerer funny, well, never."

A distant boom echoed through the building, the ground shaking beneath their feet. It could have been a lot of things. But Peter found his gaze drawn to Gamora, who had straightened, clearly standing on the same ground as the rest of them, face pinched into an expression of worry. Everyone else was watching her, as well.

"I don't want to be an alarmist, here, but-"

"He's here."

"And how do you know?"

"If you had ever stood in his presence, you would not ask."

"So what's the plan?"

Rocket gave Peter an aggrieved look, their own face twisted in some combination of worry, frustration…

"I said I had some _ideas_ , Baby Boo, all of which required Ronan the Accuser not to be _beating down the door to the prison as we speak_!"

"I will fight him."

Drax's expression had settled into something hard, fierce, and Peter wondered, briefly, if they'd been something other than this furious, driven creature, before their family cross paths with Ronan.

Rocket's expression, though, shifted in a different way, as they scowled, lunging at Drax. "Are you _stupid_? He's got a weapon to _kill gods_ , and you're gonna walk up to him unarmed?"

"I mean, technically, if we're in an anti-magic field, it's not a lot more dangerous than any other-"

The building shook, and something in the air shifted, a weight Peter hadn't noticed lifting from his shoulders. Rocket straightened as well, their eyes coming alight. "Magic's back," they breathed. They tapped their right ear, where a silver earring glittered at the touch.

"What, how'd you get that past the guards?"

"It's called _Nystul's Magic Aura_ , Baby Boo - look it up. Okay, new plan. Unless…" They glanced at Gamora. "If I were this dude, I'd rifle through the prisoners' personal effects and book it when I found what I was looking for. You _sure_ he isn't gonna do that?"

"He will write the name of everybody in this place in the dead book," Gamora replied.

"Good, good. We can work with that."

"Work with - he's trying to kill us!"

Rocket snapped their teeth, expression morphing into a grin, an excited, almost gleeful smile. "Never had anyone try to kill you before? Anyway, knowing exactly what he wants out of this fight helps us. As long as you-" they pointed at Drax, "don't try to kill him til you've got a spike, at least, we gotta wait til he breaks through here-"

There was an explosion, a rumble, and Rocket winced, ears shifting flat against their head. "Okay, Gamora, see if you can get an amulet off one of the guards, Groot, make us a path, and Drax, cover us. Starlord, just try and keep your pretty face out of trouble, okay?"

Drax threw themself over Peter and Rocket, sending them into an awkward pile. Rocket snarled and began clawing at anything in reach, which was Peter.

"Ow! Hey, what the - ow!" Peter wriggled out from under Drax with a little difficulty, creating enough of a gap to allow Rocket to scramble out themselves; they gave neither Peter nor Drax a glance as they clambered up Groot's form. Their fur was bristled, back arched.

"Hey, oaf! Listen carefully. I need you to make. Sure. No. One. Attacks. Us. Got it?"

Drax stood, hulking in place as they nodded. Rocket grinned, though they still looked tense as they tugged at Groot's head. "I said make a path, Groot!"

"I am Groot!" Groot charged out the door, into a mass of panicking prisoners. The corridors formed a wide ring around the central common area, and it was through this Groot led them, shoving people aside as they ran. There were screams of pain, and the bellows of a voice, shouting in a language Peter did not have the time to try and figure out.

Suddenly they were at a door, a ten-foot-wide monstrosity that had probably been made of adamantine before someone had rent in into three pieces.

Gamora appeared behind them, breathing hard. “He may have seen me; we should go.”

“Aren’t you, you know, with him?”

Gamora’s response was a cool look. “Ronan has no time for tools that have outlived their usefulness. In any case, I had lost patience with him, which we can discuss at length when we are safe!”

“Come on, I think I saw them stash our crap over this way!” Rocket was, it seemed, in their element, dashing amongst the remains of the Mercykiller guards, pressing the amulet Gamroa had found against doors, poking their head in half a dozen before they gave a triumphant cry. “I found it! Oh, maze _me_!”

“What’s-“ Peter took in the room set to hold prisoners’ personal effects until they’d lived out their sentences, and understood the curse. Chests had fallen from high shelves, cabinets set with cubbyholes had collapsed or merely tipped over, leaving a mess of items, trash and treasure mixed in layers of uniform chaos. “Okay, why don’t you see if they’ve got any Voidships or anything we can take, and I’ll find it?”

“How are you-“

“Prostitute or not, I’m a thief and a damn good one,” Peter retorted. “So go!”

Rocket turned to Groot. “Stay with him!”

“I’ll be fine! There’s gotta be at least one here, and you need to get it off of whoever’s got it!”

Rocket paused, glancing between the heavy hitters and Peter before snarling and darting off, waving at the others to follow them.

Once they were gone, Peter took a deep breath. He probably could have done this with them all here, but not without enduring more mockery. He let his fingers trace familiar shapes as the words came to him, and once the flare of magic was dancing along his veins (fingerpainting, powerful mages called it, like using the right brush of magic to change the world wasn’t just as impressive as disintegrating someone with a word), Peter began to hum.

So many people thought it was dumb, what Peter did. How music could pump you up, focus your mind, make you better. But even before he knew about all this shit, he'd known what the right song could do for you. And with the right soundtrack, it didn't take long, then, to find the orb, but that wasn't all he was here for. Digging through the mess, looking for a familiar flash of blue and silver, his hand fell on a box containing several short metal wands, bound scrolls, and a headband with a pale blue lens attached with silver wire. Peter stared at the lens, tracing one finger along the edge. He stuck the box in his nearest pocket and dove back in, shoving weapons and other knick-knacks aside as he looked for the most valuable thing in there.

"We found a ship and - you have the orb, what are you doing?"

Peter didn't spare a glance for Gamora, until a hand grabbed his arm, yanking him around.

"We are out of time, Starlord! Stop looting and come with me."

He pulled away and dove back into the pile. "Not until I find my - ah!" He pulled out his Walkman, sticking it in another pocket. "Alright, let's-"

"Gamora! Your guilt burns bright in this dark place! You have betrayed me, and your father besides, and despite the chattering of my blasphemous factol, there is but one punishment for treachery!" A black-clad figure, a pale humanoid, face painted with black streaks, like tears, and like they had been drinking black blood and allowed it to pour along their chin, stepped toward them, stepping as easily on bodies as on the ground. Gamora glanced between Peter and Ronan, grit her teeth, and grabbed Peter's arm.

"Try to focus," she ordered, and lurched sideways.

Her weight knocked Peter off his feet, and Gamora fell, dragging him along as she-

Peter tried, as Gamora ordered, to focus, and for a moment, they fell in unison toward the wall-

"Concentrate!" she shouted as Peter fell back toward the floor, knocking them into the stone and leaving a scrape along Peter's arm. He tried again, successfully reorienting himself toward their new floor as Gamora, fuck, landed-

"Ow!" They were off again, Peter able to catch on after only about a second, although he'd gained a new bruise on his shin. This was why he used Voidships to get around the Astral Plane; he liked not having to decide what direction was down, and _hated_ the impossible focus necessary to switch directions as quickly as Gamora could.

Trying to keep himself oriented, Peter looked down toward their destination, and laughed. They were falling toward a sharp ship, swept back, blue and orange, the fastest, greatest Void sip ever made. "You found the _Milano_?"

"The what?" Gamora landed on the hull, sending Peter tumbling into it. He scrambled down to regular ground, sprinting around to the entrance.

" _My ship_! How did they even find this?"

"How do you think I tracked you to the Cage?" Rocket was in the pilot's seat, caressing the control crystal set next to the wheel. "And I gotta apologize for calling you a jinkshirt, because I have _never_ met a whore with a ship this nice. Do you got an air-dancer stuck in here?"

"I am Groot."

"Yeah, yeah, sure." Rocket twisted their hand on the crystal, muttering under their breath, and the ship hummed as the storm elemental bound within the engine roused themselves _without_ the command word. The ship jolted up and forward, sending everyone not sitting in the captain's chair tumbling backward. " _Get lost_ , Greaser!"

And because even a psion couldn't outrun an elemental craft in the depths of the Astral Plane, they were away, likely the sole survivors of the assault on the Kyln.


	2. Exposition

"So, hende ship, Baby Boo. I'm thinking of naming it _The Void Rocket_." Rocket, who had finally vacated Peter's seat, was settled at the table in the galley, drinking Peter's Arborean whiskey in complete disregard of the fact that it wasn't going to have any effect on him as long as they were still flying through the Astral Plane.

"Groot."

"No! Get your head out of the gutter!"

"And while you're at it, stop talking about - pirating my ship!"

"I don't know, how much does an elemental-powered Void Ship go for these days?"

"What?" Peter swiped at Rocket, who leaned back, baring his teeth. "We got the orb, so you can stop whining about your bounty!"

"Yeah, first, hands _off_ , berk." Rocket held up one finger. "And second," a second finger joined it, "I'm an enterprising guy - thief, bounty hunter-"

"I am Groot."

"That was just once!" Rocket turned on Groot, scowling. There was still a hint of fang in his expression, something Peter filed away to think about later. " _Anyway_ , I'm not gonna pass up on a chance of picking up a nice ride like this. Hey, don't worry. Not gonna make you take a deep dip. You can stay on as-"

"I am Groot."

Rocket's fur bristled as he turned, glowering at Groot. "What has got _into_ you?"

"I am Groot."

"What the - and you never mentioned it?"

"I am Groot."

"I don't know, I thought you were yarking. Remind me to listen to you more in the future, okay?"

"Yeah, I don't know if I want a position in this organization."

"What, no, you'd be _lucky_ to hang with us! Right?"

"I am Groot."

Peter sipped at his own whiskey, wishing it _could_ get him drunk. Sure, it was cute watching Rocket argue with a tree, but he was beginning to consider actually expending the magical energy to understand Groot. And he wasn't that eager to get demoted to, what, cabin-boy on his own ship. He'd paid his dues with the Ravagers, and wasn't about to repeat the experience, even if Rocket's banter wasn't as likely to include threats to eat him.

"I think I understand."

Rocket's gaze flicked to Drax. "I can _promise_ you don't."

"No, no." Drax waved his hands at Rocket, leaning back against a wall because Peter had never had this many people in his ship (well, once, but they hadn't been in the galley). In any case, there weren't enough chairs. "I believe I was wrong about you being a prostitute."

" _Thank_ you."

"Your husband simply shows his affection differently than my wife did."

"Ha! He should _be_ so lucky!"

There were half a dozen responses Peter could make to that, but all of them would require more conversation about this subject, and they all had more important things to worry about.

"Look, can we get back on task? We have an item of uncertain provenance we need to unload before an overzealous Mercykiller catches up with us."

That settled Rocket down, at least, who settled, sitting on the table as he glanced at Gamora. "Yeah, Starlord said you had lead on someone who'd deal with smooth or...slippery goods."

"Yeah, and you mentioned somebody who maybe can handle a guy with a god-killing weapon?"

"They call him The Collector."

"What?" Rocket was on the table, crossing, tail bristling, ears flicking anxiously as he pointed at Gamora. "The chant's this guy 'collects' anything he can get his hands on - spikes, baubles, sparkle sticks, _bodies_!"

Gamora raised one eyebrow. "And?"

"And there ain't nothing in the Planes like me 'cept me!" Rocket snapped, slapping his chest. "Give him half a chance, and he'll stick me in a cocoon til the end of the Blood War!"

"Hey, Rocket, we won't let that happen." Drax wasn't watching, but Gamora smirked; Rocket saw that and bristled.

"We aren't friends, Baby Boo, just adams til the end of the day, so tell me why I should trust you not to turn stag on me!"

"I am Groot."

"Yeah, what he said!" 

The galley was quiet for a few moments before Drax poked Gamora's side. "I did not understand what the little tanuki said."

" _What_ did you call me?"

"Hm, I can see that. But we'd need to get a closer look at his testicles to be sure."

"What-" Rocket spun, teeth bared. "This is what I'm talking about! Not gonna let anyone cut me up, and _no one's_ looking at my testicles! What in the Nine Hells is wrong with all of you?"

"Guys. Guys!" Peter stretched out his hands, trying to placate three factions at once. "We're teaming up here. Yeah, it's not forever, but no one's turning stag on anyone."

"Why not? _You_ already betrayed the Ravagers."

Peter couldn't conceal the shiver that shot down his spine at Gamora's comment. "How did you know that?"

"I talked to the _Broker_ , 'Starlord'. I know the deal you had, and the deal you broke." Gamora shook her head. "Ravagers ride close, Starlord. If you can betray them, what's to say you won't turn on us?"

"Ronan said you turned on your father," Peter retorted. "So I'd say you're trying to turn this whole thing on me so we don't ask questions about that."

"Yeah?" She turned to Rocket. "You want to know why Ronan nearly caught us getting out of here? Starlord was digging around for _toys_."

"It's not a toy!" Peter retorted. "It's got a lot of sentimental value!" There was something in Rocket's stance, a hunching of his shoulders, droop to his ears, that made Peter remember the box with the silver-edged lens. He dug into his pocket. "Look, I found this other-"

"That's _mine_!" Rocket snarled. "Give it back!"

"Jeez, dude, I was going to. Saw that little monocle thing and thought of your earring." Peter handed the box out to Rocket, who snatched at it, digging through before slipping the headband on, the lens fitting perfectly over his eye. "Wouldn't know how to use that thing if I wanted to. What is it?"

"My bread and butter, Starlord." Rocket tapped the lens and grinned. "Had to throw a lot of jink at a graybeard to get help making this. Torques me off how dabblers always seem to know just the right thing, so I dug around for a shout that gets the dark on anyone. Cost more'n a song to get it made, but oh, is it worth it."

Peter whistled, impressed. People with the power to make stuff like Rocket's lens were hard to come by, even if you had the money. "Maybe you can introduce me to your guy someday."

Rocket scoffed. "You already met him, Baby Boo: me. Access to the right spell, some time, materials, and I can make _anything_."

"That is awesome!" Peter looked at Gamora and Drax, trying to impart on them how cool this was. Gamora actually looked impressed despite herself; Drax looked unusually (at least for the twelve hours Peter had known him) thoughtful. "Right?"

"Can...you make me something to kill Ronan?"

Rocket glanced at Drax, lips curling up into a smirk. Calculating. "I can do anything, as long as I do it outside of The Collector's vaults."

"Yes." Drax nodded. "If he tries to collect you, I will rend his head from his shoulders."

Rocket settled back, smug as he looked at Peter. Which hurt. Obviously he didn't want to get into the whole thing with the Ravagers with a guy he barely knew, but he'd given his word, which Rocket wouldn't take without a giant brute - two giant brutes, Peter amended, looking at Groot - to keep his safe.

"So let's talk percentage."

"Five ways," Gamora said.

"What? No! I agreed to a 75-25 split with Starlord before you got in the mix. I'm not going down to 20!"

"I am Groot." 

There was a pause as Rocket took that in before he nodded. "Okay, he's got a point. We each get 20, but _his_ share-" he pointed at Drax, "goes to making his Ronan-killing weapon."

"I have little need for your money, but if it will help me kill Ronan-"

"Oh, it'll do that, all right. Big guy like you, I'm thinking you want a hammer or something."

"I want to take Ronan's head from his shoulders."

"Greataxe, then. Good. Hey, how about we plan this thing out for you. You can fly this thing, Baby Boo?"

"It's _my ship_!"

Rocket laughed as he led Drax back toward the armory.

Peter sighed, looked at Gamora. "So, any idea where we're going? Good thing we're in the Astral Plane; we can catch a color pool anywhere we want to go."

"Nowhere."

Peter waited a beat, but Gamora didn't smile. "Not...a lot of help there, Gamora. If we're going to be partners-"

"We are not partners. I am using your ship to get me to The Collector so I can have my share. We are briefly allied - not partners. Not friends."

"So I guess, uh-"

She shot him a dark look, and he shrugged.

"Sorry. Reflex."

"Two out of four," Gamora said, heading for the cockpit. "I'll worry if you start hitting on the tree."

"He's a Groot. Or his name's Groot. I'm still not clear on that." Peter took a seat in his chair; there were scratches in the leather. "So...do you have any helpful directions?"

"Nowhere."

"Yeah, I-"

"Kay En Oh-where," Gamora said slowly. "The Astral Plane is home to the bodies of dead gods. Some turns back, some enterprising cutters found the head of a dead god of knowledge, carved it out, and built a city there."

"And The Collector set up shop there?"

"A lot of people set up a base of operations there; some lingering power there makes it impossible to scry on."

Peter pulled up on their throttle, glanced over at Gamora. "Any idea how to get there?"

"It's the Astral Plane."

"Which means…"

"Which means is as much a matter of attitude as direction. You need to be in the right...frame of mind to find Knowhere."

"And that is?"

"Looking for secrets, things buried and long hidden."

Like controlling your personal gravity, navigating the Astral Plane was a matter of concentration, Peter had never gotten the hang of. But Gamora had a steadying presence - kept him focused on the task, not wondering what Drax and Rocket were getting up to in the back of the ship. And in time, they came upon it.

Gods, celestials, didn't look like other people, not when you killed them and their corpses drifted into the Astral Plane. For one thing, they were bigger. A lot bigger. Their flesh was like stone, making Knowhere like a mountain floating through the Astral Plane, lights glittering against the silver sky.

Rocket stormed into the cockpit, and, finding no available seat, leaned heavily against Peter's arm. Drax appeared a moment later. "I do not understand why you will not simply make the weapon as magical as possible."

"Because I can make a spike, you know, sharper, or I can make it _shout_. If I knew Ronan's, you know, species, could stick some magic on it to do both, but I can make it lily as a celestial, make it bleed anyone you cut with it, even bleed you to do more damage with it. You want those, or you want an axe that's just sharper than other axes?"

Drax thought for a moment, and then nodded. "Sharper."

Rocket threw up his hands. "Whatever. It's your skin. We here?"

"I would say so, given the evidence of the head of a dead god right in front of us."

Rocket snorted. "I don't know; there's a lot of dead gods out here. Killing each other seems to be the Powers' favorite hobby, after styxing mortals."

"I am Groot."

"Fine, after fucking and styxing mortals, Powers' favorite hobby is fucking and styxing each other."

"No, this is Knowhere. We can land over there." Gamora pointed to three stories of docks full of ships ranging from paddle boats to what looked like a warship sealed to sail the Void. 

Peter brought it in gently, turning around to gauge everyone's reactions, disappointed to find them breaking off to the armory, where he kept most of his weapons and where they'd stashed the orb. "Wow, nice to see how badly you want to get rid of me."

"I am Groot."

"Well, if I _do_ get myself killed, you two can have the Milano. As long as you promise not to let Rocket rename it."

"I am Groot!"

"Wait, what?" Rocket scampered out into the galley, eyes bright. "You serious? You get styxed, we get the ship?"

"What am _I_ going to do with it?"

Rocket grinned sharply. "Well, alright! This day just keeps looking up. Let's go make some jinx!"

"I'm sorry." The Collector's minder, a delicate creature, skin as pink, almost blood-flushed, eyes dark and ears round, tucked beneath twisted hair, waved Gamora away. "The Collector does not hold unsolicited meetings."

"Hey, how about you give us a break? We came a long way and some of us may have pissed off our da - people we've been around for a while, and we have something The Collector's going to be real interested in."

The Collector's minder turned Peter, eyes narrowing. "Everybody thinks they have something The Collector will be interested in."

"Yeah, well, we've got the sort of thing he probably doesn't want people knowing he's got, alright?" Peter shifted his pack, allowing the minder to see just the hint of the mottled dark silver surface of the orb. "So maybe go back and see what he says about it?"

He grinned at the group as the minder drew back into the inner recesses of whatever passed for The Collector's home, or vault, or whatever. No one looked remotely impressed, even when the minder returned, giving them a low bow, leading them inward.

The Collector, a tanned elf in the indeterminate age between 150 and 300, an age he may have been for centuries, pale hair wild and swept up above his head, looked up from a pile of rings when the group entered. He snapped at his assistant, who flinched, slipped back into the recesses of the chamber. He settled his hands, gloved in dark leather, on the surface of the table before him. His left hand twitched, as of its own accord, sorting through rings as he swept his gaze across the assembled group.

He smiled, slowly, his dark eyes sparking with some inner light. "You bring so many things to my collection. Which is it? The...not a treant, but...something I have never seen before. Or you!" He pointed at Gamora with his left hand. "They call you the Last of the Githzerai, but even if it is not true, there cannot be so many of your people left. And-" He paused, eyes fixed on Rocket. "I will pay you handsomely for your pet."

"Call me a pet again and I'll bite your hand off!"

The Collector laughed. "Whoever made you put a lot of effort to make you look like a person, but they couldn't change your nature! I wonder, what might be able to change that?"

Rocket recoiled, like he'd been slapped, and Peter tried not to be jealous that The Collector thought everyone else was special enough to stick in the vault.

Of course, he'd promised to make sure Rocket didn't end up in here forever, even if Rocket didn't trust him to do so. "Look, you can't have any of us. We're here for something else. Namely…" He drew the orb out of his bag.

And The Collector's eyes widened, staring, as he took a cautious step toward the orb.

"You like that?"

"I never thought I would see it with my own eyes," The Collector breathed. "Please, can I-"

Peter held out the orb, which The Collector took with a shaking hand. "What's so special about this thing, anyway?"

"The orb? A trinket, compared to what lies within." The Collector set the orb on a stand, and picked up a stout iron rod. "Behold." He pressed the rod against the orb, which crumbled into dust.

"Hey! You break it, you bought it!" Rocket snarled. "2 million, or we take it out of your vault!"

"I think you will want to wait for my offer before you make your own." The Collector leaned in and breathed out, sending the dust scattering away from…

"A sodding _ioun stone_?" Rocket jumped on Groot's leg and used the perch to leap onto Peter's shoulder, claws digging in as he stood.

"Ow! Why do you keep doing that?"

"I got thrown in the Kyln to hunt down a guy who stole an _ioun stone_? I can make any _three_ of them for what they offered to bring him in!"

"Ioun stone? Nothing so common." The Collector straightened, a beatific smile gracing his face. "This item carries a history that stretches to the very beginning of the planes."

"It looks like an ioun stone."

Peter had never seen an ioun stone, but if this was an ioun stone, they were way more awesome than Rocket seemed to think. A perfect sphere, about an inch in diameter, rested on The Collector's desk. Twisting colors, red, orange, yellow, burned within it, like a flame captured in ice.

"Okay, assuming you're right and it isn't an ioun stone, what is it?"

"The history of this stone, and its brothers, is a secret lost time and time again. But secrets never die, and the stones, and their secrets, have resurfaced, among times of great upheaval and violence.

"The Powers did not create this universe. Even the most devout priests know this to be true. Whatever created it, therefore, possessed a mastery over the eight schools of magic beyond compare. What happened in that moment of creation is uncertain. Some believe the creator was shattered by the efforts of creating the world. Others believe the touch of their mind upon the world warped it. The end result, though, is unmistakable. Eight singularities - perfect expressions of a single school of magic. The Divinity Stones.

"Gods wielded these stones in conflict with whole pantheons. Mortals, finding the touch of these stones destroyed them, crafted tools like this orb to channel their power to...well, mostly destructive ends. What you have brought me is the Prismatic Lens, a source of nigh-infinite energy."

"Uh...huh." Peter edged toward the flaming jewel. "And you want this...Divinity Stone to-"

"To _collect_ it! I am an archivist, a collector of forgotten knowledge! From the lost symbol of Torment to the skull of Kevin Bacon. I do not make it my business to release anything once I have come to possess it."

"Yeah, well, you can possess this only after you pay us - I don't know, can we up this to 4 million? Sounds like a square price for one of the eight keystones of reality."

"Keystone?" The Collector stepped around the table holding the Divinity Stone, walking toward the ground. "I suppose it is an...adequate description. And though the price you demand is...steep, I will acquiesce. Carina?"

He turned, gasped, when he saw his minder reaching for the stone. "Stop! Don't touch that!"

She lifted her head, eyes narrow in fury. " _Burn_."

As fire flickered around the gem, outlining Carina's form, Gamora turned, diving into Groot, knocking him behind a display of shields. Peter tackled Rocket, shielding the little mage's form with his own. Drax, he presumed, was either not paying attention or believed he could survive whatever-

There was no pain at first, merely the wash of sensation across his back. Heat and a jarring concussive force. The moment passed, and then Peter's skin began blistering and aching from what felt like several cracked ribs and mottled bruising.

"Ow! What was..." Rocket's voice trailed off as he pushed Peter off of him. "What the _hell_?"

"You're welcome," Peter grunted. "Ow. You're not a...religious man, are you?"

"No, what - what did you do _that_ for, berk?"

"Come on, you're like - three feet tall, and a mage, and that woman was going to explode…" Peter tried to sit up, finding one of his arms wasn't responding. "Figured I could take it, and look, I was right."

"I am Groot."

Rocket, hands twitching, unable to look at Peter, darted away. "Yeah, and you couldn't figure that out without Gamora shoving you out of the way? Patch yourself together, and if you've got anything left, spread some finger-paint on Starlord's wounds."

"I am Groot."

" _He_ threw himself in front of a fireball rather than dodging, so he can deal with his blisters on his own." Rocket turned, suddenly toward Drax. "You okay?"

Drax pounded his chest, coughing out smoke. "I have faced worse before."

"Hey," Peter mumbled, having wasted most of his energy trying to sit up. "What about the what'd he call it...Prismatic Lens?"

They all turned toward the...remnants of the table. There was a smear of ash on the ground that had probably been Carina. The Collector was curled next to the table, hands pressed over his left eye. The Prismatic Lens lay on the floor, just out of his reach.

"Got it!"

"Rocket, no!" Burns covering most of his back, Peter couldn't move fast enough to intercept Rocket, who, heedless of the danger, was...okay, scooping up the Prismatic Lens in a bag.

Rocket turned, scowling at Peter. "Just because _you'd_ follow a berk into the Lady's shadow doesn't mean the rest of us have death wishes, too!"

"Can you maybe yell at me later, when my back isn't one - ow - giant blister?"

"That's your own stupid fault, Baby Boo. Never asked for your help. Now let's get out of here and see if we can find a new buyer for this thing."

"I am Groot."

"Yeah, or whatever."

"I could seriously use some first aid."

"I am Groot."

"What? We were on a job; how much healing did you think I'd need?"

"I am Groot."

"I am _not_ accident-prone! That lady just exploded and I am _fine_!"

"Can we argue about this later, please? I don't know how my back looks, but it really hurts."

"No!" Rocket snapped. "When _I_ get myself hurt acting like a berk, _Groot_ lectures me for _hours_ , so you get the same treatment! Someone grab him; Groot can heal him once I've had a drink."

Five minutes later, Rocket hurled the glass of Baatorian rum he'd ordered to the floor. "What is the _point_ of a bar in a place where no one can get _drunk_?" He pointed a finger at Peter. "You, Starlord, find us a color pool that leads somewhere where alcohol _works_!"

Peter glared up from his table. Groot had some talent for healing, but as opposed to the resident chaplain with the Ravagers, wasn't great at pumping a lot into people after a fight. So he was trying to work up the energy to get back on his feet himself. "I remember saying you got to be captain _after_ I died, Rocket, not before."

"Well, that can be arranged."

Peter shoved himself up, ignoring the pain in his back. Rocket wasn't snarling, wasn't smiling. He looked dead serious. Peter didn't bother shoving down the flash of hurt. He thought they were getting along, and even if they went their separate ways after this-

Well, he was wrong, apparently.

"I cannot believe you were trying to convince everyone _I_ was going to betray _you_. I saved your _life_ , dude!"

" _I didn't ask you to do it_! I can stand on my own two feet, don't need a skin owed to _anybody_!"

And there it was, Rocket finally losing his cool, both hands flat on the table, ears flat, teeth grit, bared. His frame was shaking, and his eyes…

It would be suicide - not of his life, but suicide of whatever could possibly come out of this nascent partnership - to ask Rocket if he were crying.

"Look, I'm sorry if you've run with a bunch of d-bags before, but I don't run out on my partners before a job's over. You can run a tab, if you want - tell me when I've hit a million gold worth of saving your life and I'll stop doing it."

Something in Rocket's posture eased; he reached up to smooth down the head of his fur as he sat down again. "Yeah, alright. You do the same."

"Starlord? Rocket? Have either of you seen Drax?"

Peter's chest tensed, worry twisting at his breath. "You don't think..."

"I am Groot."

"That sodding Lady-fucking son of a ' _loth_! He _agreed_ not to go after Ronan til I got him a _spike_!" Rocket scrambled out of his chair, fumbling with the box, which he'd strapped to his hip. He paused a few feet away, glaring back at the three of them. "What - are you waiting until the next turn? Let's _go_!"

Peter took a deep breath and cast, taking most of the rest of the burn off his back, and then ran after Rocket. It crossed his mind Rocket was being awfully altruistic, but so too did it that Rocket _had_ made a promise.

Drax was standing on the edge of the piers, a gnome crouched uncertainly next to him. He waved when he saw Rocket and the others approaching.

"Rocket! I promised this young mage you could pay her."

"Pay her? In _what_?"

"I had her tell Ronan where to find me, so I can fight him. She would like a way back to Sigil before-"

The gnome stiffened. When she spoke, her voice came in Ronan's guttural tones. "If you would offer yourself up to me, I will accept your sacrifice. Prepare yourself: I am coming."

"Before _that_?" Rocket retorted. "What are you _doing_?"

"You said you would make me a weapon to fight Ronan after we saw The Collector. I found an axe." He held up a wicked-looking greataxe.

"How - how long do you think it takes to make a magic weapon?"

Drax shrugged.

Rocket shook himself from toe to tail, growling. "Alright. Plan 'a' is no longer viable. Luckily, I am a master of improvisation. I assume you're not a master of the mystic arts, given your response to an exploding woman was to shield my body with yours instead of what every spellslinger I've ever met would do."

"Fine, I get the point! You don't want anyone looking out for you! When Ronan shows up-"

"We're gonna be halfway to the next color pool!"

"What? We can't just abandon Drax!"

Rocket scoffed. "Yeah, we can. I promised to give him a weapon to kill Ronan, and after that, we don't owe each other anything. Hey, Drax! Bring that stupid axe over here!"

Rocket worked in silence over Drax's axe, muttering as he focused. Several minutes into his work, he glared back at Peter. "If you're not going to help, go prep us for takeoff."

"I am Groot."

"I cannot imagine a situation where that would _hurt_ , so knock yourself out. Hey, Starlord! Get on the ship!"

"No. I'm not leaving Drax."

"Fine. Mind if I take my ship a few minutes early, then? Seeing how Ronan's gonna styx you, and you promised me your ship after you died."

"Nuh-uh. That's a promise I made to a member of the _team_ , and if you run, you're just a back-stabbing-"

"I never turned stag and never stuck a body in the back!"

"Well then you're a coward! And what'd The Collector say? That that's not going to change?"

"Unless you want to die arguing, quiet." Gamora pushed past Peter. "He's here."

A trio of forms were falling through the silver sky toward them. One, the pale-faced man, dressed in blackened armor, wielding a huge hammer. Two, a dark-skinned humanoid, plates of dark metal covering their form. Three, a blue-skinned creature, elven, sharp-faced, metal gleaming along their form.

"Rocket, leave," Gamora ordered.

"That's what I was _trying_ to do before Starlord over here started yelling at me!"

"You have the Prismatic Lens. Ronan cannot be allowed to have it."

Peter's gut clenched. "...Oh."

"Wow, great plan, there, Baby Boo! Drax!"

" _Ronan_! You murdered my family! My wife! My daughter! Today you will face justice for your crimes!"

"Do not speak to me of justice. The planes labor under the weight of the sins of the wicked, and under the mass of those who would let such evil flourish. Every life I have taken has weakened the cause of evil. Today will be a victory for my righteous cause." Ronan flourished his hammer in a wide arc. "And soon, I will bring this justice to all of the planes." He landed heavily on the docks, standing between them and the rest of Knowhere. "Did you know there is a town in the Outlands populated entirely by traitors? What is the justice in allowing such a place to exist?"

"Not justice, then. _Vengeance_!" Drax sprinted at Ronan, axe raised high.

"Come on!" Rocket grabbed Peter's hand and leapt from the dock, up - oh, fuck, down-

"But Drax!" Up above them, falling away, Ronan ducked away from a single blow. The dark-skinned warrior was engaging Groot and Gamora, and the blue creature was falling after them.

"He's fine! He can take a hit, and that blade's so lit up it could cut a pit fiend in half! Groot! Disengage!"

Drax spun and slammed his axe into Ronan, who shrugged the blow off, swinging his own hammer in response, a blow that sent Drax flying.

"He doesn't look like he's doing so well!"

"Look, I didn't have the time or jink to paint him properly, but a wonky murderer like Ronan should have a hell of a time getting through to him."

"Rocket!" Peter shoved Rocket aside as the blue-skinned warrior tried to slice his throat with one of a pair of wicked-looking knives. They both landed heavily on the dock next to the Milano; Ronan's partner landing more lightly, giving them a wicked grin as they stood.

Rocket looked over at the fight between Drax and Ronan and snarled. "If you've got anything that can help me shoot a giant asshole right in his eye?"

"Yeah, but you're not going to like it." Peter stepped between Rocket and the warrior, taking a dagger to the knee.

"You don't know anything about me!" Rocket unloaded a heavy crossbow from his back and began tracing a finger along it. " _Hate_ doing this in the middle of a fight."

"Well, you _asked_ for this." Peter took a deep breath. "Listen, baby, ain't no mountain high-"

"Seriously? You're a dabbler?"

"Ain't no valley low!" Peter continued. "Ain't no river wide enough, baby."

"Oh, if I die here, listening to a moron who calls himself Starlord trying to inspire me by singing - _die_ , you piking greaser!"

Guided by Peter's encouragement, along with whatever magic Rocket had stuck on the crossbow, the bolt struck home, piercing Ronan's shoulder.

Rocket, though, was frowning. "That's weird."

"What?" Peter ducked another swing of a knife from the assassin.

"I have a lot of experience shooting people with stuff I've boosted to hurt them. That should've done a lot more damage. Among other things, he should be bleeding _profusely_."

And then Ronan pulled the bolt from his shoulder and pressed a hand against the wound.

"Oh no."

"What?"

"Oh no, oh no, oh no. Drax, pull out! Through no fault of my own, you've got the wrong spec for this fight!"

Groot landed between Peter and his assailant. "I am Groot."

The warrior cracked their neck. "Don't you know? Ronan is guided by a _higher power_." She darted forward, knocking Groot aside and pinning Peter to the ground. "Give me the orb, or your friend dies!"

"Your boss is a paladin! They're not supposed to do shit like this!"

"In the service of a greater mission, sacrifices may be made. So, what do you say, rat?"

The angle at which the warrior held him, Peter had a perfect view of Rocket's face. The furious scowl at being called a 'rat' was expected.

"You call me that again and-"

"That doesn't sound like agreeing to give me the orb, rat." The warrior pulled at Peter's hair, twisting his head around. "So what's the answer?"

Rocket grit his teeth, hand tightening around his crossbow. Staring at Peter, he gave a wavering breath, shaking his head, and then he met Peter's gaze. Rocket's eyes were wet.

Peter shook his head. "Get on your ship and _go_ , Rocket."

"N - no. Job's not over, Starlord."

"Rocket! You can't give them-"

"Pike it, Baby Boo." Rocket reached down to his waist, tugging the wrapped stone away from his belt. "I know what I'm about. You want the orb? _Catch it_!" He hurled the package into the silver sky, the wrap falling away as the stone, glittering and shining, soared away from Knowhere.

The warrior shoved Peter away and leapt after the stone. Rocket was suddenly at Peter's side, shoving him toward the ship.

"What are you-"

"We're getting under cover so you don't do that barmy 'shielding my body with yours' crap again! _Groot_!"

"I am Groot!" Groot bounded after them as, high above, Ronan's lackey reached a hand out to grab the Prismatic Lens. Just before Rocket shoved him into the ship, Peter saw flames licking up and down the assassin's arm.

The explosion rocked the ship, possibly all of Knowhere; Rocket braced himself against the ceiling while Groot fell on top of Peter. Once the shaking stopped, Rocket laughed and bounded back out of the ship.

"Ha!" Peter scrambled away from Groot, following Rocket outside.

"No," Rocket growled. "No no no _that's mine, you sodding errand boy_!"

The blue warrior, scorched, missing an arm, drifted as Ronan soared up toward them, and the light of the Prismatic Lens. He produced a bag he swung to capture the stone without touching it, at which point he grabbed the blue warrior around the waist. "Korath! Get us out of here!"

The warrior fighting Gamora kicked her away before leaping at Ronan. They produced a cube, pressing one side; a rip in space appeared, through which Ronan and his companions dropped. The tear sealed itself.

"Well, that could've gone better," Rocket grumbled. "But at least no one died."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Inspire Courage. A bard can use song or poetics to inspire courage in his allies (including himself), bolstering them against fear and improving their combat abilities. To be affected, an ally must be able to hear the bard sing. The effect lasts for as long as the ally hears the bard sing and for 30 seconds thereafter. An affected ally receives a morale bonus on saving throws against charm and fear effects and a morale bonus on attack and weapon damage rolls.'
> 
> \- Dungeons and Dragons Players Handbook


	3. Initiative

"I'm sorry for threatening to kill you," Rocket said.

"Sorry for calling you a traitor."

"Sorry for yelling at you instead of thanking you for saving my life."

"Sorry for holding up our escape looking for my Walkman."

"Your what?" They were sprawled on the dock next to the Milano, head-to-head, so Rocket could twist around to look at Peter.

"Artifact from my home plane - plays music." Peter dug it out and waved it at Rocket.

Rocket's hand was almost on the Walkman before he paused. "Uh. Can I take a look?"

Peter handed it over; Rocket took it, surprisingly carefully, turning it over in his hands. "It's not magic."

"My Prime didn't have magic. I mean, it might have, but I didn't know anyone who believed in it."

"Hm. Love this shit - what people make when they can't do it with magic."

"Did you come from somewhere that has magic? I mean - are you from a Prime, or…"

"Yeah, I'm a Prime. It was a shitty place."

"And, uh." It was rude to ask people a lot of questions about their species. But Rocket _and_ The Collector had agreed he was pretty unique.

"That's the _dark_ on me, Baby Boo."

"Fair enough." They lay there in silence for a few moments. "What was that thing - that The Collecter said to you - that freaked you out?"

"None of your damn business, is what it is!" Rocket took a shaky breath. "Sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. We're not friends, and I'm trying to treat you like we are."

"Eh, we've saved each others' lives a time apiece. Figure it's okay you think we're friends."

"Peter."

"What?"

"That's my name."

"Ah, _come on_! I am trying to keep this relationship professional, and you keep _opening up_ to me."

"What are you two doing?"

Peter waved at Gamora; standing over them, she watched them with a carefully neutral expression.

"We're clearing the air," Peter replied. "You know, since we're all going to die and all."

"I'm still up for finding a demiplane somewhere we can lock up and live out the rest of our lives, no worries about greaser paladins trying to kill us."

"This is a defeatist attitude."

"I am Groot."

"Yeah, _you_ said once Ronan realized what he had, he'd start cleansing the planes of all evil! And I don't know about you, but _my_ behavior isn't exactly sending me to the Upper Planes."

"I am Groot."

Rocket scrambled onto his feet, pointing angrily at Groot as he stormed toward him. "And what _can_ we do about it? We got our asses handed to us _before_ he got his hands on the Divinity Stone! Now he can - what the hell can he do with that thing anyway?"

"The Prismatic Lens is the purest essence of evocation magic. It can call upon the most devastating energies known to the planes - so long as you can wield it without it destroying you."

"Yeah, and what about that? The Collector's assistant exploded, but that assassin-"

"My sister. Nebula."

"You got any other family members we should worry about trying to kill us?" Rocket said snidely.

"Hey, lay off her." Peter shoved Rocket's shoulder; Rocket spun on him, baring his teeth.

"Hey, hands _off_ , P - _Starlord_!"

Peter drew his hands back, holding them wide. "Yes - sorry! You aren't a touching guy; that is _noted_. But family's hard, Rocket, okay? So her sister's a deadly assassin - and I'm guessing she has - _had_ \- a prosthetic arm? I went out with a Valkyrie once, and the shit _their_ Powers get up to makes the whole 'mercenary siblings' gig look tame."

"Okay, whatever." Rocket began pacing in circles. "But that doesn't help us fight a guy who's got an arbitrarily large amount of evocation magic at his disposal. Greybeards'll tell you evocation is one of the most useless schools of magic, but you shout loud enough you can break anything."

"We could try to kill him again."

Drax had, apparently, stopped beating himself up over his failure to kill Ronan, and moved to join the group of them on the pier.

"In case you didn't notice, we _failed_ to pull that off already, and the job has not gotten _easier_ now that he's got _limitless magical power_ at his disposal!"

"Yeah, but Ronan can't touch the Divinity Stone. He needs a tool or something to use it."

Rocket paused, one finger pointed at Peter, and then nodded. "You've got a point, there. But if we do this, we need a plan. We need to _stick to_ the plan. I'm gonna need a rundown of everyone's tactical strengths and weaknesses."

"What - who said you get to be the leader?"

Rocket snapped at Peter. "Let's run down the geniuses we've got here. Quill - took an explosion he couldn't dodge to save a guy who probably could have taken it. Drax - challenged a genocidal greaser without giving me the time I needed to make him a proper weapon. Gamora - didn't warn us her sister was going to be trying to kick our ass, so the Prismatic Lens just took out her _arm_ instead of her sodding brain-box."

"I am Groot."

"Well, it wouldn't have _hurt_! I don't know why you even _bothered_ learning how to turn into a saber-toothed tiger if you never do it!"

"And what about you?" Gamora asked, evenly.

Rocket bristled for a moment before settling. "You know what? I'm a moron, too. I tried to blow up Gamora's sister instead of making a run for it because I decided I didn't want her to styx some guy I met _today_. But I've been keeping _Groot's_ woody ass in one piece for _years_. So even if I'm a moron, I've got the best track record out of all of us at keeping an entire team alive."

"In your plan, do I get to kill Ronan?"

"Ideally, yes. Now that I know Ronan is a sodding _paladin_ , it makes things a _lot_ easier."

"Okay, yeah, that's confusing me. Aren't paladins, you know…"

"Ronan was a righteous warrior against evil, once. Such men are easily drawn to the Mercykillers, but often, they must abandon the Mercykillers' principles to adhere to their oaths as warriors of justice. Others dirty their halos to serve the uncompromising demands of the Mercykillers. Ronan...found another path. His faith in the righteousness of his cause sustains him no matter the heinous acts he commits in service of it."

Drax frowned, brow furrowing. "I don't understand."

"Paladins are supposed to be good guys; the Powers are supposed to smack them down if they do shit like kill children. But Ronan believes that nothing he does is wrong, and he's _such_ a self-absorbed dick that his god hasn't been able to take his powers from him, no matter _what_ he does."

"No wonder he got himself a hammer that can kill gods; whatever Power he followed must have tried to get hands-on with the problem of a halo they couldn't tarnish." Rocket resumed his pacing. "I hate jobs like this. Wait - we're not getting paid for this. What are we doing this for if we're not getting paid?"

"Ronan will not allow us to live."

"And I'm getting the idea that Ronan's gonna do this whole, wandering from place to place, murdering entire communities on a whim, thing, which isn't a super cool thing to have hanging over our heads."

"If Ronan is over our heads I will drag him down and break his neck with my bare hands."

"Gamora, do you know _what god_ Ronan worshipped?"

"How is that relevant?"

"Because he's embarrassing this god. He got himself a hammer so he can take out any hit squads his god might send after him. He's _afraid_ of what his god might do given half a chance. And that spells...opportunity."

"No," Rocket said, shoving at Peter. He raised one hand, rubbing the fingers together, "that spells 'bounty'. Okay, this has officially moved into my house. Need you and Drax getting the dark on portals around here, Baby Boo. I gotta make a couple scrolls of _sending_ , and you, Gamora, _dig deep_."

"I am Groot."

"I don't know - commune with the endless void of the Astral Plane or something!"

There wasn't a portal to Sigil in Nowhere, but was a semi-permanent color pool to the Outlands just a short hop away. The walk with Drax, however, gave Peter time to think. Five of them against Ronan, Nebula, and the third warrior seemed doable.

"Drax, when Ronan killed your family, was it just him?"

"No, it was at the head of an army of warriors, each as fearsome as a goliath berserker."

"What would you say our chances of surviving would be if we had to fight this army?"

"Hm. I am certain I could slay a hundred of Ronan's foot soldiers, and the rest of you together another one hundred."

"And how many people are in Ronan's army? Say, to the nearest hundred?"

"Ten thousand...one hundred."

It was a worrying thought. In Peter's experience, churches, especially churches of gods of law and justice, didn't like their theological disputes involving a lot of personnel. Which meant, whether or not Rocket could get Ronan's god to pony up a bounty, they weren't likely to get the necessary support to handle the nine thousand, nine hundred warriors Drax didn't think they could handle.

There was an option, there, but Rocket wasn't going to like it. _Peter_ didn't like it.

But he was certain there wasn't another option.

When they returned to the ship, Rocket was arguing with Groot.

"Among other things, because he doesn't live on this plane of existence!"

"Hey! We got a way out of here. I mean, it's not going to drop us back in Sigil because, you know, we're not that lucky, and the ship wouldn't fit."

"Yeah, that's great. We got a lead - Ronan was a puppet for St. Cuthbert before he started hunting heads. Problem is I can't ping anyone on another plane."

"But if there's someone in the Astral Plane, you can call them?"

"Who do you need to call?"

"The, ah, Ravagers."

"And you wonder why I thought you shouldn't be in charge. They put an actual bounty on your actual head. Only reason we're not currently neck-deep in...other bounty hunters is us being in a divination dead zone."

"Yeah, well, I wanna offer them a deal."

"What...sort of deal?"

"Well, uh. Sort of. Giving them the orb - the stone - when this is all over."

"You're a moron."

"Yeah, maybe. But counter-point: do you have any ideas how to defeat an army of 10,000 dudes? Because that's what Ronan's got."

Rocket raised a hand, paused, frowning. "No, as a matter of fact, because I have _never_ been stupid enough to try to do that. Until now, apparently, because I have _lost control of my life_."

"Hey, Rocket, you don't have to-"

"Shut up! I _know_ that! But I promised Drax a weapon that _works_ for this, and Gamora's pretty cool and...you're gonna get yourself killed without me around." Rocket hunched down, looking away from Peter. "Groot's got it in his head we gotta do this, anyway, and can't talk that asshole out of anything."

"I am Groot."

"And you can keep that sass to yourself! Anyway, I'm in this for the long haul, Baby Boo...or at least until you get yourself styxed."

"Well. Can't blame you wanting to cash in on the rest of the life-saving I owe you."

"Anyway, we got another problem. We have no idea where to find Ronan."

"I mean, it'd be suicide to attack Sigil. Guy with god-like power - might not be able to even get through the wards keeping the Powers out. And even if he did - killing people left and right's how you get flayed alive or stuck in one of Her Serenity's mazes." Rocket was pacing again, hands flailing as he talked his way through it. "Ditto pretty much anywhere in the Lower Planes. If I wanted to start a war of extermination to scare people into staying on the straight and narrow, I'd want to make a statement. Like, 'this is what you get for standing too close to bad dudes'."

"A city that's...what, bad-guy-adjacent? Only thing like that I can think of is a Gate-Town - one of the ones sitting on top of a portal to the Lower Planes. Like Torch, Hopeless, Bedlam-"

"Curst," Peter said.

"What?"

"Did you know there is a town in the Outlands populated entirely by traitors? What is the justice in allowing such a place to exist?"

"What?" Rocket was still scowling at Peter.

"Ronan said that. Curst is right on the edge of Carceri."

"I _hate_ that place," Rocket growled. "Can't trust _anyone_."

"Well, looks like you and Ronan have something in common."

"Yeah, I'm thrilled. Look, I don't have any better ideas, so what the hell. Let's get the gang together, see if your Ravagers'll play jinkbasher for us, and get ourselves all killed. Hey, Gamora!"

Once everyone was assembled in the Milano, Rocket, standing on the table of the galley, gave them all a fierce smile. "Alright. Unless anyone wants out-"

"I _will_ see Ronan dead."

"Yeah, yeah. Gamora?"

"I had already decided to abandon Ronan. Had I known he sought one of the Divinity Stones, I might have slain him earlier."

"That would have definitely saved us a lot of trouble."

Rocket gave Peter a quick glare. "Anyway, plan is, we're gonna pop over to Curst, because Starlord thinks it's Ronan's target-"

"A Gate-Town?"

"Yeah. Ronan seemed really pissed about the Planes having a 'city full of traitors' in it. Curst is sitting right next to Carceri, and everyone there's a backstabbing asshole, ergo-"

"You can't just wipe a Gate-Town on the map. Gate-Towns are the settlement in all the Planes most like the plane they sit on the edge of without actually belonging there. If they get too much like the plane, they get dragged in. If they change too much, another settlement slips into their place."

"But yeah, what happens if you burn the place down?"

Gamora shrugged at Peter. "I suspect the Planes will replace it with another settlement."

"But if the new settlement is where the old settlement was…"

"You have _got_ to be kidding me!" Gamora shook her head. "Alright. Whatever. One town, a dozen towns, a hundred towns, doesn't matter. Starlord's trying to call in some reinforcements, but in the end, we're gonna be the ones taking down Ronan and his gang. And for that, you're going to have to actually _follow_ the plan."

After that, there wasn't any reason to stay put. Yondu's reply to Peter's message was concise. 'You got the goods and I'll be there.' They were performing last-minute checks before taking off; they were hardly going into the Great Void, but it was habit. Rocket took to checking the control crystals, and the elemental housing, with a practiced eye, while Peter readied to take them out of there.

"You're, uh, pretty good at this planning shit."

"They didn't make me to be _bad_ at strategy."

'They'. That answered a questions Rocket hadn't wanted to answer, and a couple more Peter hadn't asked when he realized Rocket wouldn't answer those, either.

"What… _did_ they make you to be good at?"

"What do you think?" Rocket snarled.

The Collector had looked at Rocket and asked a question. "You don't want to be what they made you to be. But you're still a-"

" _I know_!" Rocket snapped. "I keep trying, but that's - it's all I'm good at."

Peter didn't know how to protest that, didn't know Rocket well enough to know if it was true (but a delicate silver earring, and carefully crafted lens held just over his eye suggested it wasn't). Rocket wasn't a hugger, he guessed, and that left…

"I think you could be a kick-ass teammate. A good...friend."

"I don't need your pity, _Peter_. Not gonna hang around this ship like your _pet_. Anyway, Groot and I have a good thing going on."

"Hey. Just thought I'd offer. Can't hurt having a co-pilot _and_ a weaponsmith in the same package."

Rocket scoffed, but Peter thought he could see the hint of red, of darkened skin, along his ears. "Well, I'll...think about it. I mean, as long as this thing's still mine when you die, I might as well stay close."

"Well, no rush. We might all be dead tomorrow, anyway."

Rocket turned to Peter, bared his teeth in a vicious grin. "No way. We're _scribing_ this piking greaser into the Dead Book. Getting it _notarized_."

"Well, if that's the plan."

"Yeah. We're styxing this dude and his entire operation. You hear that, guys? Ronan's a fucking _dead man_!"

"No he isn't. He will not be until I kill him."

Rocket snorted, dropping his head onto the control panel. "Well. _That_ moment's officially ruined."

"Hey, you'll get your moment. One thing I know about climactic battles like this: everyone gets a chance to look cool. Alright, we are lifting off!"

Because the universe was a cruel place, the nearby color pool dumped them within sight of Tradegate, the Gate-Town to Bytopia, and literally on the opposite side of the Outlands from Curst.

"Well, that'll give you a couple of days to make Drax a magic axe."

Rocket glowered at Peter. "Did I miss the lab you keep in the back of the ship? In one of the berths? Or in one of the cabinets in the galley? Oh! And I'm guessing in my inventory an hour ago, I must have missed the basic components for crafting in some sort of invisible box! Am I on the mark?"

"You could've just said we don't have the stuff we need. You don't have to be _mean_."

Rocket's ears flicked out, down, and he ducked in his seat. "...Sorry. This is just some prime bullshit. We can't even make a straight shot at Curst."

"Well, no, but we can come close. The Spire at the center isn't an anti-magic field; it just starts knocking out magic starting with the most powerful stuff. So as long as we stay outside the fifth ring, the magic keeping the elemental bound to the ship won't fail and we can keep going."

Peter paused, realizing Rocket was staring at him with a strange expression on his face. His mouth was hanging open a little, eyes wide, and lips twitching oddly.

"Rocket?"

"You are _crazy_ , Baby Boo."

"I've got a mimir!" Peter retorted, voice cracking. "It'll let us know what ring we're in-"

"Oh, hey, I wasn't criticizing, Baby Boo. Crazy's good. If you're going on a suicidal mission to stop a half-mad paladin from murdering a bunch of blameless traitors, crazy's what we need. So how about you get moving, and I'll see if I can hail one of Cuthbert's puppets?"

"I don't suppose you know anyone in Curst we can warn?"

"No one I'm talking to, no."

"Rocket."

Rocket sighed, waving a hand at Peter. "Fine. Church of St. Cuthbert first." He shrugged. "Might as well go for the Prime Justicar, right?"

The next few minutes of Rocket twisting a small crystal lens went quietly; he was humming quietly as he did so, a soothing counterpoint to the rumbling of the engine.

"Okay, here we go." Rocket took a breath, then paused. "Fuck, I hate this spell. Let's see…"

"Rocket of the Milano reporting Ronan holding destructive artifact with unmatched destructive potential. Request support in ending the threat he poses before it's too late." When Rocket was silent, Peter turned to him. "What?"

"Never liked dabblers much," Rocket replied. "Turns out you're full of surprises."

"Yeah, wait'll you see me fight."

"I _saw_ you fight. Got yourself pinned when you were supposed to be covering your artillery support."

"Yeah, but I didn't have my - look, I learned this really kick-ass martial art ages ago, and I promise I'll be ready when we meet Nebula again."

"Yeah? Well, as long as you've got a plan. Alright, give me a minute again, gotta concentrate on this."

It took another few minutes, and then Rocket's expression twisted into a scowl. "Wait for a response? What are they-"

A window appeared against the side of the ship, framing the face of a humanoid - probably human, square-faced, serious, pale hair twisted into a form they could probably stick under a helmet with little trouble. They squinted at Rocket, and glanced at Peter.

"This is the Prime Justicar of St. Cuthbert. You sent me a message."

"Uh, yeah, Prime Justicar, er, sir, we ran into Ronan the Accuser, and it turns out he, uh, got this new weapon that - look, have you ever heard of the Prismatic Lens?"

"Look," the Prime Justicar said sternly, "I do not have time for this."

"Your church would have known the item as the Phoenix Fire Gauntlet."

The Prime Justicar's eyes darted to Gamora as she approached from behind before widening; her lips thinned in disapproval. "I do not know what game Ronan is playing, but we will not indulge it a moment longer-"

"Wait wait wait! Your Primeness, we're not with Ronan! Gamora's a good guy now! Well, sort of. Um. Look, we might be smugglers and thieves, and - pirates, and yeah, Gamora's a mercenary, but Ronan's crossing a line, and we don't want to let it happen."

"You _know_ of the Phoenix Fire Gauntlet, don't you, Prime Justicar?" Gamora said in an even voice.

The Prime Justicar nodded once, curtly. "It was used in the razing of the Kingdom of Killahed in a single night. It was used to sacrifice the people of Neph'alan to create the Phoenix Force. It was destroyed, however, at a dear cost to our faith."

"Yes, the Phoenix Fire Gauntlet was destroyed. But the gauntlet was merely a tool, forged to harness the power of a greater item. The Prismatic Lens is the heart, the source, of all the magics of destruction. And Ronan has it. If he were to bond it with an item created to channel such power, it would become a weapon of such fantastic power none could stop him."

"The God-Slayer," the Prime Justicar whispered, voice trembling.

"It would become the Plane-Slayer."

"And he rides to one of our temples?"

"Well, actually...he's going to destroy Curst."

Several expressions crossed the Prime Justicar's face in quick succession. A quick widening of eyes - surprise. A shudder, a paling of the skin - fear. A brightness, almost a smile.

Peter felt a flare of anger in his chest, something bright and hot, and he slammed a hand on one side of the window. "Do you know who lives in Curst, Prime Justicar? People who are sort of like Carceri - people who struggle and fight for power, stab each other in the back for any advantage. But people who aren't there _yet_. I mean, correct me if I'm wrong, but Ronan pissed your god off because _he_ was willing to burn down a whole town to kill a few jerks in it."

The Prime Justicar exhaled, their shoulders slumping. "You are, despite all odds, correct. But we have no outposts near Curst, and know of no portals there."

"Well, we don't know for _certain_ he's going for Curst. So we thought you'd want a heads up. And second…"

"Look, Ronan's clearly a _huge_ embarrassment," Rocket interjected. "Running around making people think St. Cuthbert is down with murdering innocent children for basically no good reason. We're in a position to do something about the problem."

"Are you…" The Prime Justicar leaned in close to the window. "Are you asking for _payment_? For protecting the Planes from the scourge of Ronan the Accuser?" They narrowed their eyes. "What if I tell you no?"

"Well, we'll probably do it anyway. Our friend's sworn vengeance against Ronan, and we did try to keep him from getting the stone, plus Rocket blew up his bodyguard's arm. We're just trying to take advantage of an opportunity. But can you imagine if we hadn't personally pissed off Ronan? If we were just five people in the right place, and you needed someone to help?"

"You - you can't extort me when you've already said you're going to help!"

"This isn't extortion. I'm just pointing out that if saving the Planes paid well, when something like this happened, people would _fight_ for the chance to help."

The Prime Justicar's expression didn't shift; after a few tense moments, they straightened up. "As it happens, we _had_ issued a bounty for Ronan's head. No one has inquired after it in some time. Bring proof of Ronan's destruction, and it's yours. We will pray for your success."

When the window closed, Rocket spun on Peter. "How did you _do_ that? I've had to fight with those assholes to pay me for bounties they _hired_ me for!"

"I'm man enough to acknowledge you're the brains of this operation. But I'm the _face_. Say things the right way, Rocky, and you can get people to do _anything_."

"Hmph. It's _Rocket_. And shut up so I can get a message to Curst."

The hours after that passed quiet, tense. Peter found himself shifting, anxious. He wished he could put on some music, but he didn't know if Rocket was in the mood.

And then Rocket bolted up in his seat, lunging to the window. "Do you see that?"

"See what?"

Rocket grabbed Peter's head and twisted it just to the right of their bearing. There was currently a dot on the horizon, airborne, but moving steadily. "That."

"That's either a roc or…"

"The _Dark Aster_. Ronan's warship."

Peter jumped at the unexpected sound. "You need a bell, Gamora!"

"Moving without sound is a hard habit to break, Starlord. And not a high priority right now."

"Alright. Starlord, keep up the bearing. I'm gonna light up Drax's weapons, and see what I can do with the shit you've got on board." Rocket darted to the rear of the ship, leaving Peter and Gamora in front.

"So. The… _Dark Aster_."

"It bears an impenetrable hull of adamantine, set with a hundred guns and able to carry ten thousand soldiers."

"And those soldiers…" As they drew closer to the dark shape, tiny specks broke away from the ship, forming an indistinct cloud. "Are they the flying sort?"

"He has a number of flying craft to aid in aerial assaults, yes."

"Um. With weapons?"

"They would be very ineffective warcraft if they did not."

"That's, um…" Peter paused, peering carefully at the scene. "Shouldn't they be headed this way?"

"The fewer people we have to fight in this battle…" Gamora leaned in close as well. "We aren't that close to Curst. What are they-"

The message stone on the dashboard flickered to life. "Hey, Quill. Started the party without you, hope you don't mind."

Peter laughed and slapped his hand on the stone. "Gonna have to dock your pay for that, Yondu!"

"Twenty years of not eating you, kid, and this is how you repay me?"

'Eating?' Gamora mouthed at Peter. He waved her off. "Why don't we argue about this _after_ we've put Ronan in the dead book?"

"Sure, kid-"

A point of red light soared from the _Dark Aster_ , striking one of the ships circling it. Red light exploded outward, consuming the ship, its contents, and occupants, in one moment.

"The fuck was that, kid?"

"That's what we're dealing with! Your job is keeping the rest of his army busy. Rocket!"

"Coming!" Rocket leapt onto the back of the copilot seat and clambered down. He leaned over, reaching out-

"Whoa, Rocket! Not in front of Gamora!"

"What?" Rocket rolled his eyes and tapped Peter's belt buckle. "I'm not using my last moments to give you a handjob, Starlord. I am _enchanting_ your _equipment_." After finishing with the buckle, he traced a sigil along the sleeve of Peter's shirt. Magic tingled through both pieces of clothing.

"What did you do?"

"Standard defensive enchantments, the best I can do on short notice. Had to give Drax one of your shirts; I will pay you back out of my share when we get out of this. Now get back there and ready to disembark."

Gamora was already heading back; Peter paused at Rocket's chair.

"Um, sorry about-"

"Forget it, Baby Boo."

"Yeah but...take care of my ship."

"Mine, if you kick it down there."

"Well, keep it in one piece in case you need it afterward."

"Will do, captain." Rocket looked back, smirking, at Peter, and winked. "Kick ass down there."

Gamora waved at about half the armory piled on the table as he entered the galley. "Wasn't sure what you wanted out of the armory-"

Peter grabbed the curved knife Yondu had given him when he'd deemed Peter an adult, and a stack of throwing knives. "You don't need anything?"

"I fight as easily unarmed as otherwise."

"I am Groot."

"And Rocket explained Groot doesn't...own things. Drax-" Drax was wearing one of Peter's shirts, the fabric stretched to breaking over his chest, his greataxe slung over his back. "Is fine."

"Good. Let's _do_ this thing!"

Peter pushed open the door to the ship; air rushed past them as the ship soared, dodging among Ronan's troops. The Ravagers weren't quite holding their own, but _had_ left an opening for the four of them to jump.

"Stay close," Peter warned. "It'll take a second to make sure we fall safely."

"And when you land on the ship, make for the bridge," Gamora added.

"See you on the other side!"

Peter jumped first, falling for a few terrifying seconds before he cast, _feather fall_ , the magic catching all four of them, slowing their falls a a leisurely drift. The _Dark Aster_ loomed below them, steadily heading toward a smudge on the horizon that must have been Curst. A Voidship the size of a rowboat angled toward them, only to begin an uncontrolled fall after being struck by a blast from a passing Ravager ship. As he fell, Peter began muttering, tracing sigils through the air. _Dolorous blow_. _Blur_.

And then they hit the surface of the _Dark Aster_. Gamora was moving immediately, darting toward a hatch on the top of the ship. "Drax! Can you get this open?"

Drax roared and slammed his axe into the hatch, shattering as if it were made of rotten wood, instead of three-inch-thick metal. Gamora flipped down the opening, and Drax dropped down after her. Groot clambered down, arms twisting to grasp the ground ahead of him as he moved. Peter paused, pulled out his earbuds, whispered a last incantation ( _inspirational boost_ ), and turned on the Walkman. The music filled him, a beat matching his own heartbeat, and as he leapt down into the ship, began to sing.

"Can't stay at home, can't stay at school,"

He couldn't pull out the big guns, not yet, but he could pump himself up, pump up his allies, give them the edge they'd need to get to Ronan. He saw Gamora ducking under a pair of halberds struck at her from two directions, one of them scraping inches from her skin, grabbing one of them by the arm, flipping them into the other, and punching the fallen one in the throat. She tripped another that tried to stand, a kick to their ribs as they went down, kneeing another in the groin as she dropped.

Another soldier behind her stiffened, fell, as Drax cleaved into them, blood spraying in an arc as he spun into another. Groot's arms formed a net of vines that tripped, entangled, strangled those around them. And then Peter had to engage his own enemies, a trio of heavily armored warriors with matching longswords. The first blow from one of them surprised him, nearly hitting him, except the blade turned, of its own accord, an inch from his skin. He sent a silent thanks to Rocket before spinning, slicing a deep cut along their arm. Peter ducked another attack, responding with a flurry that caught his attacker in the thigh, a lucky cut that bled in a violent spray. "Hello world! I'm your wild girl. I'm your ch - ch - ch - cherry bomb!"

His third assailant fell as Drax decapitated him in one blow.

"This is a fine song for slaughtering the servants of my sworn enemy to!"

Peter grinned, gave Drax a thumbs up, and spun on one heel to duck a swing from a blood-red blade.

"Punch through!" Gamora shouted; Peter nodded, trailing after her and Drax as best he could. Groot brought up the rear, whipping anyone who tried to follow. The ship shook irregularly, with collisions from outside, and then-

"FEAR NOT." The voice shook Peter's bones, breaking his concentration and his matching the beat of his Walkman.

"RONAN THE ACCUSER. YOU HAVE BEEN JUDGED AND FOUND WANTING BY OUR LORD. THERE CAN ONLY BE ONE SENTENCE FOR YOUR CRUELTY AND YOUR ARROGANCE."

"I guess the Prime Justicar pulled some strings," Peter mused. 

"Come on; the bridge is through-"

"Me." Nebula, standing between them and the heavy barred door at the end of the corridor, gave Gamora a wicked grin. "Korath, take care of these boys for me; we have a family matter to attend to."

Peter couldn't say how Korath, the dark warrior that had joined Nebula and Ronan in their assault on Knowhere, had snuck up on them, but the first blow from behind sent Peter to his knees, head spinning. A kick, and Peter rolled a dozen feet away, his front bruising from the force of it. He took a deep breath, but his voice wouldn't come, no song to get him back on his feet, to help him fight this person.

"We met once before, didn't we, _Starlord_? You stole the orb from my very hands, forced me to return to my master empty-handed." There was a distant sound of fighting, shouts and the clang of metal from Gamora and Nebula, screams of 'Groot' and the whistling of branches swinging at attackers, and irregular curses as Drax fought his way toward Peter. "That will not happen again. You have no escape route, no new tricks. And I will kill you here, as I have done many in my master's name."

"Your killing is _done_!" Drax slammed his axe into Korath's armor; Korath turned easily, returning the blow with their own greatsword, a strike that hit Drax hard enough Peter heard the crack of bone.

"My killing will end when Ronan's holy quest has come to an end." Korath laughed as several more blows rang off their armor with no apparent effect, and punched Drax, fist colliding with flesh with a wet thump. "I will kill you. I will kill this worthless thief. I will hunt down the rat who destroyed Nebula's arm. There is nothing you can do to stop me."

Peter growled, pushing himself up just enough to see the scene. Gamora and Groot were engaged in a furious battle with Nebula, who was just...close...enough.

He coughed, forced the words out. _Mass curse of impending blades_. Korath shouted in shock as Drax sliced across their shoulder blades. Nebula screamed; a thump suggested she'd hit the ground. Peter took another breath, _inspirational boost_ , and then, "Ooga ooga ooga chaka…"

Korath laughed. "I have never fallen in battle, not to a warrior, and not to a dabbler-" Their voice choked off as Drax slammed an axe into their back, another into their hip, and another back into the wound in their back. Korath fell, gasping, and Drax swung his axe at the warrior's head, severing their head.

"I - I'm hooked on a feelin', high on believin', that you're in love with me!" There was a shout, a triumphant cry from Groot, and then-

"After her!" Gamora threw herself at the barred door, kicking it several times to no apparent effect. "She's-"

Drax took a deep breath, another deep breath, turned, and sprinted at the door, roaring inarticulately.

"Out of the way!"

Drax collided with the door, smashing it in. "Ronan! Your life ends now!"

A riotous blast of light enveloped him; Drax howled. Gamora was through, and then Groot. Peter rolled to his feet and started running, casting as he did so. _Sirine's grace_. He paused, shifting his foot out, letting his momentum carry his foot forward in a circular motion, carrying him forward into an odd, dancing gait. When he crossed the threshold into the bridge, Ronan was easily holding off Gamora, Drax, and Groot. A great translucent hand slapped Gamora away from him as he swung a huge hammer, the flickering light of the Prismatic Lens set at the join between the head and handle. Flames licked around him as he slammed the hammer into Drax, knocking him aside; Groot's form smoldered at the touch of the flames.

"Drax, _do it_! When I die and they lay me to rest, gonna go to the place that's the best!"

Drax, roaring, slammed his axe into Ronan's leg, sending the man down on one knee; he hopped over a swing of the hammer and slammed a fist into the ghostly hand when it struck him. Groot twisted his arms, binding them into a wall of spiked wood that wove around Ronan.

Flames consumed the wall in an instant; Ronan stepped through the ash toward Gamora, at which point Peter ran into him, knife slashing in time with his gait. One along the right arm, another to his side, and he dodged out of the way of Ronan's counter-attack. "When I lay me down to die, goin' up to the spirit in the sky!"

"Impudent whelps! To strike one chosen for a holy crusade such as mine!" Lightning arced from his fingertips; Gamora dodged the bolts, but Drax, Groot, and Peter were caught in the blasts.

Drax flailed harder, weapon scraping across Ronan's armor. The ghostly hand slapped him away. Outside the window of the great bridge, ships and flying figures engaged, drew back, fell. Ronan turned his weapon toward the window, taking aim, and an explosion of greasy black fog engulfed a large winged figure gleaming with blinding light; when the fog vanished, there was no sign of the angel.

Wait. Peter looked out the window. There was a shape fast approaching the _Dark Aster_. A familiar shape. One piloted by someone who knew where a ship like this kept the bindings for the elemental keeping it afloat - someone who had just seen Ronan disintegrate an angel.

"Gamora - Groot!" Peter sprinted back toward the door, hoping he could get through it before Rocket crashed the Milano into the _Dark Aster_. And then there was glass, crystal, the scream of a creature Peter hoped was not a fire elemental (you kept ships aloft with fire, air, or in rare cases, storm elementals), and the loud cursing of a guy who had survived crashing someone else's ship into a war galleon.

"Rocket, you okay?"

"Just perfect!"

"Is this where you think you've won?" Ronan stepped toward the shattered front of his ship. "You have brought all your might to bear against me, and I…" He pressed a hand against a bloody shoulder, and sighed peacefully. "I have not expended one-hundredth of the power this artifact may bring to bear against you. Allow me to demonstrate." He raised the hammer above his head. Four lights, pinpoints of red against the dull sky of the Outlands, appeared, growing larger with every moment.

Rocket began sprinting toward the knot of Gamora, Groot, and Peter. "Get some sodding _cover_!" he screamed, grabbed Drax's arm as he passed. "And do _not_ shield my body with yours this time, Baby Boo!"

The red lights were growing larger, resolving into flaming orbs of rock plummeting toward the _Dark Aster_.

"Oh. Fuck. I don't think cover's going to do much."

"I am Groot."

"What?" Rocket spun on Groot, hissing. "That goes doubly for _you_ , you stupid tree! At least Starlord isn't _made of wood_ -"

But like when Groot had created the thorny wall, his fingers were spreading out, forming a net, a wall, a dome spreading around the four of them.

"What are you _doing_? How am I - we - supposed to do this without you?" Rocket's voice was shaky, hands clenched at his side.

"I am Groot."

"He's like a foot shorter than you and can't take orders! And-"

"I am Groot."

" _You can't do this to me_!"

"We are...Groot."

As the wood of the exterior turned to ash, flowers bloomed on the interior of the dome, drifting around them as Rocket fell to his knees.


	4. Resolution

The ground under Rocket's knees jerked sideways; the petals surrounding him drifted to the right as the floor shifted. He scrambled to gather the petals, the few scraps and twigs he could reach, but most of it slid out of his reach.

He saw a flash of movement - Starlord (Peter, he'd told Rocket). "Get over here and _help_!" Rocket snapped. 

Peter looked down at Rocket, at the debris surrounding him, eyes wet (acting like he had a right to be sad about this), but he didn't move. "Rocket-"

"Help me pick him _up_! We can-" Rocket sagged, petals falling from his arms as he caught his fall with his hands. The floor shifted again, and Rocket began sliding across the carpet of petals. "Fuck!" He could feel his breath hitching, tears threatening at his eyes. 

"Starlord!" Gamora's sharp voice cut through the haze of Rocket's mind.

The ground jerked again, sending Rocket skidding down; a hand grabbed his arm, and he nearly cut the berk's hand off until he saw blond hair, wide, clear eyes, and he grabbed on with both hands, a choked sob escaping his throat as that asshole Peter tucked his body around Rocket as the _Dark Aster_ finished crashing into the surface of the Outlands. It was a protracted process, support beams snapping, metal rending, but sheltered in Peter's arms, Rocket felt a tension snap, and he cried, unheeding of what happened around him.

It was worse this time around; breaking away from the old man's lab, he hadn't been powerful enough to do anything, had been forced to watch people he'd, well, not been friends with, but at least suffered together with, die. He _had_ a scroll in his pack, a way to drag someone back from the dead if he had to, but it wasn't enough, here, not powerful enough to bring back a stupid tree who'd-

"Rocket, Rocket. I'm gonna carry you, okay?" Peter was moving, smooth, easy, among the collapsing _Dark Aster_ , and Rocket found himself focusing on the steady heartbeat in front of him. Not everyone was dead. Not _everyone_. Not like last time. Not like when the old man had-

Rocket heard a hiss as the sudden gripping of his claws dug into his flesh. He couldn't work out the words to apologize, but Peter didn't drop him.

And then they were outside, the Outlands' light blinding after the dimness of Ronan's ship. Rocket felt a growl build in his throat. It shouldn't have looked so...normal out here. Not when Groot was - _gone_.

Killed.

“Where’s Ronan?”

Peter flinched away from the sound of Rocket’s voice, dropped, let him scramble down onto the rubble, the remains of Ronan’s ship. Other bodies littered the wreckage, but Rocket brushed across them, looking for some sign of pale skin, painted black in patterns like tears and spilled blood-

“The bridge collapsed on him when he cast that spell,” Gamora said, moving easily over the uneven rubble. “And the ship crashing on top of him couldn’t have helped. Even with the healing magic he had, I doubt-“

A ghostly hand threw aside a ton of twisted metal, and from the wreckage stepped Ronan. The axe was wreathed in ghostly blue light.

“I see the Prime Justicar saw fit to aid you, to protect a city born of treachery. One wonders how she thought you would succeed where even her god’s servants had failed. What good she thought it would do to join with thieves and bounty hunters.”

“ _I’LL KILL YOU_!”

Peter grabbed at Rocket as he lunged forward, and this time Rocket _did_ bite him, desperate to remove any obstacle between him and Ronan. And then he stopped, held in place by a ghostly fist, a grip more than Rocket could fight. Ronan was laughing.

“What can you do, vermin, that three warriors already could not?” The hand tossed him aside, and he rolled along the ground, limp, the fury gone, Rocket just feeling...tired. Drax was moving heavily, and Peter, too, and Rocket felt a wash of despair. They’d given it everything they had, more than they could afford, and Ronan was still here, no more than a little scratched, his hammer gleaming with the light of the Prismatic Lens.

Wait.

Drax was swinging his axe at Ronan in long, tired sweeps, but Peter’s eyes were on Rocket, worried. Rocket’s exhaustion was already giving way to thought, desperate sketching out a plan, but that expression warmed him, a shock of energy, and sudden confidence.

 _They could do this_.

‘Distract him,’ Rocket mouthed, as clearly, slowly as he could.

Peter tilted his head at Rocket, curious.

‘I got this.’

And Peter nodded. No questions. No doubt.

“Hey, Drax! Lay off!” By some miracle, Drax did as he was told; Rocket couldn’t see, couldn’t afford to look at what Peter might have conveyed to Drax to make him fall in line. He was working, hurriedly. Rushing this could go terribly wrong, but he had no choice. A knife, battered, worn, that he wrapped a silver thread around in tight spirals. _Silver for abjuration_.

“What are you doing? Do you hope I will spare your friend? He is a murderer, travels with thieves!”

“Well...I’m an alligator,” Peter crooned.

“What are...you…”

“I’m a mama-papa coming for you,”

And yeah, Peter had a nice ass, but the sight of him dancing shouldn’t have left Ronan slack-jawed, staring vacantly at him. Rocket had heard it called a fan dance, the way a dabbler could ensnare the senses, but right now it was a buffer, the gift of time for Rocket to do this right. He worked over the second-nearest object at hand, a twig he’d miraculously salvaged from the ship. _Copper for evocation_.

And then it was ready. Rocket rose to his feet, looked toward Ronan, who was still staring dumbly at Peter. 

“Keep your ‘lectric eye on me babe, keep your ray gun to me head…” It should have been hilarious, Ronan the Accuser struck senseless by a _dance_ , basically a cantrip. But they’d lost too much getting here, and all Rocket could feel was a grim satisfaction Ronan’s death would be as ignominious as possible.

Rocket took a deep breath and offered a prayer to whatever Power looked out for agnostic crimes against nature. This wasn’t a plan; it was what you did when every plan had failed, when _nothing_ you did could make things worse.

Rocket sliced the knife in an arc in front of him, focusing, not on the Divinity Stone, but the hammer containing it. _Dispel magic_.

Against all odds, Rocket felt a flicker as his magic muted, suppressed the hammer’s own.

Ronan shook his head, eyes drawn to Peter, narrowing as he raised the hammer-

And nothing happened. But Rocket had no time to cheer at his success; he had a few seconds, at best, before the hammer’s magic would flare back to life, allowing Ronan to channel the Lens’ magic once again.

He pointed the fragment of Groot at Ronan. _Shatter_.

The Prismatic Lens pulsed once, and Rocket felt a jolt in his stomach as he released more power than he’d contained in his makeshift wand. On some planes, certain magic came more easily; you’d find power welling up from the world around you to empower your spells, even if you didn’t want it to.

The Lens echoed the pure tones of Rocket’s spell, the volume and power of the note growing until the earth around them shook with the force of it.

And then Ronan’s hammer split into eight fragments, falling around his feet as the Prismatic Lens arced away from him.

Ronan screamed in fury, stumbled forward, reaching for the stone, but someone else was already grasping a hand around it-

“Don’t touch it!”

But Peter was a _moron_ , and there wasn’t going to be enough of _him_ left to raise from the dead, either, because he clenched his hand around the stone like he expected to be able to hold onto it.

The world fell silent, even the sounds of battle above fading. And then a towering pillar of flame engulfed Peter; the roaring of the flames drowned out all other noise, so Rocket couldn’t say if his scream left his mouth or not, but it wasn’t _fair_. He couldn’t lose Groot and then the only other place he might have gone after.

Peter was screaming, but his form, dark within the flames, held steady. He was...holding on. Rocket sprinted toward the pillar. "Help him!"

Drax dove into the flames, and Rocket flinched, expecting what anyone would seeing someone jump into a pillar of magically-enhanced fire. But Drax caught Peter's hand, and Peter's screaming lowered in intensity, though it was joined by Drax's own bellowing.

"Lighten the load!" Rocket shouted as he drew closer. Gamora gave him a level, assessing look, and did so, grabbing Drax's free hand; her face slid to a contemplative expression, and the flames shifted from a torrent of red flame to a flickering curtain of blue. There was no screaming, but Rocket could see the strain on all of their faces. It was too much, they needed-

Ronan slammed a fist into Rocket's stomach, sending him tumbling back, away from the Stone. "This ends _now_ , vermin!"

Breath coming hard, Rocket lay where he was for a moment, fumbling with his dagger. He barely had any magic left, but all he needed was a few seconds…

Ronan laughed, stepping forward. "What do you possibly think you can do? No mortal may touch a Divinity Stone and live, not for more than a few moments. All I have to do to destroy them is to wait."

Rocket rolled over and plunged his dagger into Ronan's thigh. The unholy magic he'd put into it, coursed into Ronan's body, and the man screamed as Rocket ducked around him and plunged into the flames.

They burned, yes, and he could feel them licking along his form, seeking to consume everything-

Peter's hand grabbed one of his, and Gamora's his other, and Rocket didn't feel it, quite as much. But the power was still there; as much as any of them focused, eventually it would overwhelm them, destroy them.

Rocket could feel burning from beneath his skin, a heat that seared along his nerves, hurting worse than the fire, worse than losing Groot. It'd been so _long_ since he'd felt it-

_'You aren't dead yet. Do it again.'_

Rocket snarled, and the flames receded, until they were a candlelight in Peter's hand. The power was contained, but Rocket could feel it twisting, looking for an outlet. Peter moved slowly, turning to look at Ronan. He raised his free hand and

_Snapped_

his fingers.

A column of lightning connected heaven and earth, rending the air with a deafening crack. When Rocket's vision cleared, there was a smudge of ash on the ground where Ronan had stood (an appropriate end for the asshole who'd incinerated Groot), and the Divinity Stone was floating in front of Peter like a glittering ioun stone.

"Gotta…" Rocket handed a padded box to Peter. "Put it away."

Peter nodded, reached out, and snapped the box closed around the Stone; the sound was surprisingly loud in an unexpected silence. "Give it here," Rocket grumbled, stuffed the box away when he had it in hand. And then he slumped down, drained. They'd won.

Technically.

Curst was still standing. Ronan the Accuser was dead. There was no doubt about that. There was a bounty, Rocket thought vaguely. So they'd get paid.

It'd been years, though, since Rocket felt so defeated. Not since he'd met Groot, certainly. Something touched his head; Rocket startled, jerking his head up. Drax was there, hand held uncertainly above Rocket's head. He reached up, and pulled the hand back.

Drax didn't speak, which prevented Rocket from having to tell him to shut up. He'd seen people comfort others over losses, and didn't think he could stomach that pity. At least they'd known Groot, a little. Probably grateful he'd saved them. He couldn't imagine they'd look this somber if Rocket had been the one who'd died.

Peter'd probably be happy he didn't have to worry about Rocket killing him for his ship.

Someone cleared their throat.

"Hey, kid."

"Jeez, can you give us a minute here?" Peter didn't sound agitated, so Rocket didn't bother moving. Couldn't have managed much right now anyway.

"Really can't, kid. We were promised a fee for this, and no one wants to hang around with this many halos around."

Peter sighed. "Alright, give me a second."

Rocket ignored the footsteps, until Peter knelt in front of him. His eyes were soft, furrowed. "Hey, Rocket. Gonna need the Stone, and then I can leave you alone."

"Don't leave," Rocket blurted, and Peter nodded.

"Well, give me a minute."

Rocket dug into his pack, retrieving a padded box he returned to Peter. Rocket tuned out much of the next minute or so, only noting the sounds of Voidship engines, fading as they left. After a minute, Peter sat down, next to Rocket, close enough to touch, but keeping that distance. He heard Gamora's graceful steps circling nearby (keeping watch? he couldn't tell without looking).

"My mom died a...while ago. And I remember everyone telling me how sorry they were for me, how they knew how it felt, but they didn't, you know? You can't know what it means to lose someone unless they meant the same thing to you, and you and Groot didn't give off that mother-son vibe."

Rocket snorted, despite himself.

"I don't even know what I'm trying to say here, but...this sucks. Groot seemed pretty cool, and shouldn't have had to die. Offer's still up, if you want, to ride along with me for a while."

"Better'n rotting here," Rocket grunted. He paused. "Somebody's gonna need to fix your ship first, though."

Peter snorted, giggled, and then was just laughing, helplessly, and Rocket - he was too tired or overwrought, he found the laughter dragging him in. Somewhere it shifted into sobbing again, and he was clutching at Peter's sodding shirt, embarrassing himself in front of the team.

"FEAR NOT."

Correction: the team _and_ the halos the Prime Justicar had sent to help them.

At least the Ravagers had booked it already.

"Hey, can you give us a second?"

"WE HAD COME TO THANK YOU. YOUR VALOR AND SACRIFICE ARE-"

Rocket was up, stalking toward the speaker, ten feet tall, skin like cherrywood painted with gold, eyes like twin voids, pointing at them accusingly. "I don't care about your 'valor' and 'sacrifice'! I lost my best friend out here and-" His breath hitched, and he was going to start crying _again_ -

"Heyyy, buddy." Peter was suddenly there, standing between him and the angel. "Look, my friend's a little upset. Not used to losing friends in the fight against evil, so how about you _shut it_?"

"WHEN YOU ARE READY, WE ARE TO ESCORT YOU TO THE PRIME JUSTICAR. FOR HER THANKS."

"Then let's go," Rocket said.

Peter looked down at him, eyes soft...worried. "Rocket-"

"I'm _fine_." Or at least, Rocket didn’t know how long he’d need to sit here before he _would be_ okay. It certainly would take more time than the angels had patience.

Peter, though, hung close as they moved to the coterie of angels, skin like bronzewood, mahogany, oak, eyes like stars. A hand hesitated near the back of Rocket’s head until he nodded, and then there was a warm weight there, and for a moment Rocket didn’t care how close they were to his scars.

The angels didn’t try to carry them, but did require them to hold hands. Peter and Gamora took the unenviable position of holding hands with an avatar of perfect law and good, and one of the angels spoke a word-

The Great Bastion wasn’t the ostentatious palace Rocket had seen from other (less well-defended) temples. It was a fortress, girded by walls of adamantine and silver, protective enchantments woven into every inch. It looked like it could weather the assault of a god.

The Prime Justicar looked as they had in their brief conversation, dressed in silvery armor that suggested they had been preparing for war (for their expected failure).

The Prime looked them over, gaze lingering on Rocket. He bristled, wondering if he could get away with telling her to pike it.

“You have impressed me. And done us a great service. Ronan the Accuser was a blight upon the Planes-“

“I _know_ ,” Rocket growled. “He killed my friend, killed Drax’s family, so we know how much of a sodding bad guy he was, so how about we dispense with the sodding small talk?”

The silent moment following Rocket’s outburst would’ve been more stressful if dragging the words out hadn’t been exhausted what little energy he had left.

“Very well,” the Prime agreed at last. “As discussed, there was a bounty for Ronan’s destruction, and that we gladly pay.” There was a sound of crystal against crystal, against cloth, their pay, it seemed, in something like diamonds-

Rocket jerked his head up. The Prime Justicar looked ready to say something further, but this was more important.

“Your priests are sparklers, right? Or some of - my friend died, helping you out, so if you’ve got somebody who can bring him back-“

The Prime shook their head. “In an ancient compact with the spirits of death, we may not sell the power of resurrection, not for gold nor services rendered.”

“ _Then I’ll join your sodding church_! Just bring him back!”

Rocket ducked his head rather than look at the Justicar’s face. He knew what he’d see there.

Peter’s hand rubbed gentle circles along the back of Rocket’s neck, but it didn’t do a bit of good. “We should get going, Prime Justicar. Um, if you can point us to somebody who can fix out ship.”

“For recovering the stone for us, it is the least we can do.”

Rocket snorted. Sodding right it was the ‘least’ they could do. 

“Um...about that…”

Rocket tugged the box containing the Prismatic Lens out from his pouch and held it out. “You’re gonna maze it, right?”

“Well, not quite so effectively as the Lady could do so, but that is the idea.”

“Rocket, I gave the Stone to the Ravagers-“

“I told you, Stone looked like a sodding ioun stone. Figured torquing off the Ravagers by switching it out was better than whatever their buyers got up to with it.”

“Well. That should do nicely. Though,” the Prime coughed delicately. “You should consider employing deception less often in the future.”

“Absolutely, your grace,” Rocket said. “Unless I really need to.”

“Unless absolutely necessary,” the Justicar agreed. “Until your ship is repaired, you are free to enjoy our hospitality.”

Then they cleared their throat, looking away from Rocket, as if embarrassed. “I hope there is comfort that I am certain your friend’s sacrifice earned him a place within the Upper Planes-“

“He’s a sodding druid, doesn’t need some god telling him he did a good job.”

Rocket ignored the rest of them, convincing one of the attendants wandering around to get him a pot, some soil, and a little water. He set Groot in the pot and set it by the lone window in the room (austere, but he doubted the Prime Justicar had much better; they didn't seem the type) and sat, staring at it. Rocket was drowsing there, loathe to look away from the remnants of his friend when-

Groot was a sodding _druid_. _They_ could revive the dead, he was sure of it. And he could have sworn he remembered hearing that all they needed was a piece…

When Rocket forced himself into the temple's library, he found Gamora walking the stacks. She glanced up, brow furrowing in worry when she saw Rocket.

"I hope you are not trying to convince them to return Groot to us," she murmured. "The marut do not forgive such violations of their rules."

Rocket snorted. "Nah, pretty clear that's spire-climbing. I need a book on nature magic - ah!" He pulled a book off the shelves, dropped it on the nearest surface (the floor) and began flipping through, as quickly as he could manage. There was a time limit on this sort of magic, he knew, so he couldn't waste a second trying to find the answer.

And then there is was, written as plain as it could be. 'Magic to create a new body, to entice the mind and spirit back into life...so long as a single fragment of the body remains…'

"Ha!"

"Rocket?"

Rocket shoved the book back on the shelves and shoved past Gamora. A week. Six days, now. More than enough time, if he didn't waste it explaining to people who couldn't help.

"Rocket!"

"I'm _fine_ ; just leave me alone!"

And he _was_ fine. Because he had a chance, now. If it'd been other circumstances, Rocket might have raided the temple's supplies for fun, to prove he could. But he had a _quest_ , and so wasted no time getting what he needed. Oils, unguents, the rare inks and papers necessary, all readily available.

Rocket forced himself to sleep; as desperate as he was to get started, you couldn't do work like this tired. Couldn't do it hungry, so he forced himself downstairs for food the next morning. Drax was talking enthusiastically about the temple's holy berserkers; Peter seemed to have endeared himself to several of them in an entirely different manner, if the paid of giggly bodies sitting next to him at breakfast were any indication. Gamora was still reading, and Rocket might have wondered what _she_ was doing with the temple's books if he didn't have a job to do.

The next few days passed that way, Rocket forcing himself to eat, sleep, catching glimpses of Drax's training, Gamora's research (on old wars, conflicts, ancient artifacts. There was no mistaking what she wanted to know about), Peter's sleeping his way through the acolytes, but otherwise spending his time in his room, the pot on his windowsill a constant reminder of the stakes.

But each day ended in failure, inks, papers, and the oils he'd stolen from the church ruined in the attempt. Each morning, Rocket found himself increasingly aware of the looming deadline. There were three days left. Two days.

On the morning of the last day, Rocket's last chance, he forced himself into Peter's room (they were trusting, here; the locks were pathetically easy to pick).

"Mph? Rocket?"

Rocket grabbed at Peter's hand, dangling from the edge of the bed, and yanked; Peter didn't move, but he sat up, slightly, dazed, red-eyed (hungover, Rocket thought, irritated). A mumble from the other side of the bed revealed another occupant, but since they were probably another acolyte and unlikely to be helping in the 'resurrect dead partners' plan, Rocket spared no attention for them.

"What's going on?"

"I need your help," Rocket ground out.

"What - what's up? Are you in trouble?"

"No, I just - I need you to come with me, _now_."

Peter waved toward his bags. "Can I at least get some pants-"

" _No_."

Rocket had no idea what Peter might have been thinking, being dragged naked down the hall to Rocket's room, but he went without complaint, though did grab Rocket's sheets once they arrived to wrap around his waist. And then paused, turned, taking in the mess of the room.

"Rocket? What's going on here?"

"I'm getting Groot _back_ , except it isn't working, and I need you to - dabblers can do a thing to make people better at shit, right?"

"For, like, climbing, not...whatever you're doing here." Peter picked up a crumpled sheet of paper, squinting as he tried to read it. "Rocket...you're not, you know… _reanimating_ him, are you? Because I run a necromancy-free ship."

"I'm not a sodding Dustie, Starlord, but what I need is your _help_!"

Peter held out a hand, gentle, and Rocket bristled at being treated like some wild animal. "Alright. How 'bout you explain what we're trying to do here, and I'll see what I can do?"

And...Peter wasn't useless. He knew a little about trying to work unfamiliar magic. He offered some advice throughout the day, things Rocket might have been too distraught, to stressed, to remember. It was getting on to sunset when they were finished. For a few minutes, neither of them could do anything but stare at it.

A scroll of _reincarnation_.

"You know he might not be a, treant or whatever, when this is done, right?"

"We can deal with that when I've got him _back_." He was bristling again, Rocket knew, but he was so close. "Get the others. Maybe...give 'em a heads up."

Peter nodded and was off, leaving Rocket with the scroll and the remains of Groot, the most important part of the spell. He pressed his hands flat against the scroll to keep them from shaking, and took a deep breath. He couldn't screw up the casting, not with all the work it'd taken to make the scroll. He needed to be calm. It was just a spell. Just a scroll like any other.

The others, returning with Peter, were quiet. Gamora looked pensive, Drax...excited, Rocket guessed. Most importantly, they stayed out of his way while he drew on the magic bound in the scroll. And for all the effort it had taken to make the scroll, the magic itself came easy, and then…

The twig twisted, sprouting limbs (legs? arms?), and slowly began to grow. Minutes stretched on as it continued to grow, limbs resolving into arms, legs, a head forming from the body. An hour passed, and the growth slowed, stopped, Groot's new body complete.

"He's short."

Rocket gave Peter the laughing hand, tucking his ring finger under his thumb and flicking his wrist. "Spell makes a 'young adult' body, and Groot wasn't exactly _young_."

But the figure stepped away from the pot, moving uncertainly, and Rocket had no time for the rest of them. Groot was a little shorter than Peter, now, but when he looked up at Rocket, the expression was so familiar, Rocket almost cried.

"Hey, buddy. That you?"

"I...am Groot."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reincarnate  
> Transmutation  
> Level: Drd 4  
> Casting Time: 10 minutes  
> Range: Touch  
> Target: Dead creature touched  
> Duration: Instantaneous  
> With this spell, you bring back a dead creature in another body, provided that its death occurred no more than one week before the casting of the spell and the subject’s soul is free and willing to return. The creature may return as a different race as their original body.
> 
> So long as some small portion of the creature’s body still exists, it can be reincarnated, but the portion receiving the spell must have been part of the creature’s body at the time of death. The magic of the spell creates an entirely new young adult body for the soul to inhabit from the natural elements at hand. This process takes 1 hour to complete. When the body is ready, the subject is reincarnated.
> 
> A reincarnated creature recalls the majority of its former life and form. 
> 
> The spell cannot bring back a creature who has died of old age.


	5. Seeker

A lone githyanki fell toward The One in the Void, the buildings of the great city of the githyanki growing as he approached. As he caught sight of the great citadel Susurrus, he angled his fall to reach the gates. Soldiers, Kr'y'izoth and Tl'a'ikith, hurried to intercept him, although they fell away when they felt his presence, and the brush of his mind against their dead ones.

He waved them away, offering a word of thanks to their deathless watch over the great citadel. Once, they had failed in their duty, allowing a queen to die at the hands of a vicious conqueror. But now they were filled with renewed purpose, as were all true-thinking githyanki. 

The githyanki followed familiar paths until he reached the great room where Vlaakith, 157th of her name, had once ruled. Now it was dominated by the Silent Throne, occupied by the Unspoken, the One-Hundred-and-Fifty-Eighth, who roused from their meditation as he came upon them.

"What news, my son?"

"Ronan is dead, my lord. He sought to use the Prismatic Lens to destroy all he saw as impure."

The Unspoken's laughter filled the throne room. "Foolish, to believe he could master such power. And what of the Stone?"

"Ah...taken, my lord."

"Taken? By whom?"

"A band of thieves, my lord. By _Starlord_ \- who took it from us once before. They have brought it to the Citadel of St. Cuthbert." When no reply was forthcoming, the first among the children of the Unspoken pressed forward. "We could lead an assault upon that place, capture the Stone for your glory."

"No." The Unspoken was silent for a minute longer, before they sighed. "To move too quickly risks destruction, too slowly failure. Destiny shall bring the Stones to my hand. We have other matters to turn our attention to. So tell me: how goes your search for The Smith?"

**Author's Note:**

> No one is asking for this. But I was joking when I was talking about how Gamora would obviously be a gith, and then weird grey elf-guy with telekinetic powers showed up in Infinity War, so...here it is.
> 
> The "divergent" thing is to let you know that this might start somewhere familiar, but it's gonna get weird...pretty quick. (Planescape is weird)


End file.
